Chest of Demons
by Soul Reaver
Summary: One man stands between 13 ghosts and the rest of humanity. Can he stop a plot to steal the Chest of Demons? An AU fic involving a character and timeline of my creation.
1. Meeting Again

Meeting Again  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the 13 Ghosts of Scooby Doo franchise. This is an alternate universe fic, so bear with me. In this timeline, the fiasco with the 13 Ghosts took place in the 22nd Century (2127-2128) - and this fic starts in the year 2146.  
  
Shaggy is estranged from his wife and lives with Scooby and Flim Flam whom he adopted. Fred and Daphne are married with two children. Bogle and Weerd have turned over a new after leaf and live with Shaggy and Scooby. Van Ghoul still keeps vigil over the chest. They live in a small Florida coastal town called Sapphire Bay (just north of Daytona Beach.)  
  
Events and terms that you'll hear referred to quite often:  
  
The Biohazard, the War, etc... (2139-2145) This devastating war which our hero (Sgt. Hiram Becker) fought in a year ago was one of incredible global devastation and terror. Victims of a mysterious virus, the creatures of the Biohazard were single-mindedly motivated for the destruction of mankind.  
  
22nd Special Forces - Subdivided into four squadrons (A,B,D, and G Squadrons) each divided into four troops (Boat, Mobility, Air, Mountain) the Special Forces are an elite in the US Army. In times of war the two Territorial Regiments, the 21st and 23rd Special Forces, bolster the 22nd Special Forces.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2146: "I don't know what to say to him, Daphne." Shaggy said.  
  
"Shaggy, Hiram's your nephew. Say what's on your heart." Daphne replied. They waited at Shaggy's house for Hiram to show up.  
  
"Easy for you to say. The last time we talked was years ago." Shaggy said. His face was a little more careworn from the years since the gang was together, the goatee and mustache he'd sported in recent years starting to show one or two flecks of gray.  
  
"Yeah, and he and Uncle Shaggy didn't exactly get along." Flim Flam remarked.  
  
"This is more than a mild insult: 'That's why Aunt Tara left, she couldn't stand to be with a coward'." Scrappy remarked, "Army schmarmy, if he says that again, I'll..."  
  
"Scrappy, be nice." Fred remarked.  
  
"Shaggy, maybe it's time you two mended the fence." Daphne said.  
  
"You're right." Shaggy said, "Why else did he say he'd be coming home again?"  
  
"Shaggy, remember, bury the hatchet." Velma said, walking into the kitchen.  
  
"And not in Hiram's head either." Fred replied.  
  
"Here he comes!" Bogle and Weerd shouted with excitement from the porch.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
(Hiram's POV)  
  
Six years. Shit. Had it really been that long since I left? It had been that long since I left Sapphire Bay, since I was called up to serve. Combat in the South American Theater isn't something that doesn't leave its marks inside as well as out.  
  
I know I was unduly harsh with my family six years ago. I know I pushed them all away, but I had to. They were kinda stupid in the way they stuck with me though. For once I'm thanking God for that. I damn near cried back in 2144 when Aunt Daphne sent me that home made green sweater back when we were humping through the Andes with the 10th Mountain Division.  
  
It sounds odd that I should be Uncle Shaggy's nephew, but I am. I was orphaned at the age of six by a fire that burned my house down. Uncle Shaggy and my mom's sister, Tara, took me in and raised me. Their marriage had always been a rocky one, and they constantly fought. Well Aunt Tara was the courageous type, having the spine Uncle Shaggy lacked. Their marriage lasted till I was about eleven, and they split up.  
  
Now the story goes to me, who exactly I am. I was a bit of a hellion growing up, I got into a lot of fights in middle and high school, I was almost always in detention or having some sort of disciplinary problem. Amazingly enough my grades were fairly decent, I graduated with a 3.89 GPA. I figured I had to turn my life around somewhere and the army seemed a good way to start. I enlisted at the age of seventeen as a territorial or reservist. I was now Private Hiram Becker, US Territorial Army, and weekend warrior.  
  
It was the time I served as a boy soldier where I heard about something called the Special Forces Regiment or 22nd Special Forces Regiment. I immediately got hooked and wanted to join, but Uncle Shaggy had his objections over this. He specifically said, "Hiram, you're an intelligent young man, go expand your brain and go to college."  
  
I wound up joining the Territorial Army's 21st Special Forces Regiment at the age of nineteen. (There are two such regiments in the TA (Territorial Army) the 21st and 23rd Special Forces). Going to college with both my enlisted pay and my hazard pay was a bonus, but I felt like the big fish in the small pond. So I enlisted into the active duty Army at the age of twenty-three and joined the Parachute Regiment to get that solid infantry background I needed to be part of the 22nd Special Forces Regiment. Turns out I didn't need it.  
  
When the Biohazard hit the 21st and 23rd Special Forces Regiments were activated and we were sent to war. Uncle Shaggy really flipped his lid and we had a major falling out over this. I said I didn't give a fuck and I had to do this. What he didn't know was that I had my own personal reasons for volunteering for the most hazardous theater of war. All I knew was that I had to push them away so they wouldn't find out.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Hiram! Man are we glad to see you pal!" Weerd said.  
  
"*Sniff* I missed you man! Where'd you go?" Bogle said.  
  
"South America. I was with B Squadron, Mountain Troop. 21st Special Forces." Hiram replied.  
  
"Hey, hey, hey, if it isn't my nephew the soldier." Shaggy said. He regarded his nephew for a moment. His eyes looked haunted, they were those of a man aged before his time, they were eyes that had witnessed war in all its horror.  
  
With a little uncertainty the two men hugged each other, like the relatives they were. "I've been a stranger far too long, Uncle Shaggy." Hiram replied.  
  
"Maybe I was being too harsh with you, Hiram, I was just being protective. I didn't realize I was smothering you." Shaggy began.  
  
"I was being bullheaded too." Hiram replied, "Maybe I shouldn't have been so harsh with you."  
  
An awkward silence followed as they all walked inside. "You must be tired after a long trip from Fort Bragg." Shaggy added.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
(Hiram's POV)  
  
To be perfectly honest, I didn't know shit about what I was gonna say. For the past six years I'd deliberately avoided them all. I knew I'd hurt them by doing this, but why the hell were they forgiving my deed. War does that to a man, you can't just take him out of incessant combat and strife and expect him to adapt to a quiet civilian life.  
  
I still expected all of this to be a dream. That I would wake up in a cold foxhole somewhere in the Andes, or on top of my A-frame somewhere in the Amazon. To be perfectly honest I missed all of them in the years I was gone.  
  
So I just listened. Aunt Daphne's career as a TV reporter was going spectacularly; Uncle Fred was pulling a job as her co-anchor. They were interviewing for their job with CNN in a week. Flim Flam was between jobs, again. Scooby Doo and Scooby Dee were expecting their liter of pups in a week. Velma had gotten a teaching job at the Aeronautical University in Daytona, teaching computer programming. She was moving in next week. Bogle and Weerd obviously still missed me.  
  
"What about you, Hiram?" Flim Flam asked me, "Did you win any medals?"  
  
"A Special Forces soldier does not serve just to win medals." I replied, "He serves because the boys on his team are serving."  
  
"I was in South America as a correspondent, attached to the 9th Ranger Battalion." Daphne said.  
  
"When?" I asked.  
  
"Back in 2143, during the fighting for Caracas." Aunt Daphne replied.  
  
I had been there myself. In mid 2142 we launched an offensive to retake Caracas. The 9th Rangers had spearheaded the effort, and fought off hundreds of attempts to retake the city. The most intense fighting took place around the Rio Orinoco Outpost. C for Charlie Company, 9th Rangers had gone in with a hundred and fifty men and came back out with thirty- four.  
  
"Where were you in Caracas, Aunt Daphne?" I asked. Fervently I hoped she had been in the more pacified sectors of the city, but knowing the 9th Rangers, they were always leading the rest of the Army into things.  
  
"I was with B-for-Baker Company, on the city's eastern edge." Aunt Daphne replied, "In time for when they retook the Eastern Residential District."  
  
I couldn't believe it, my beauty queen-ish; overachieving aunt had actually been imbedded with one of the toughest units in the South Am Theater. At that point I'd felt closer to my aunt than I had any other time.  
  
I nearly missed what she'd said next, "I remember as a correspondent I actually followed the elements of the 9th Rangers into the Eastern District. I was close enough to the fighting to feel the ground rumbling when the Rangers started fighting over the sewer system."  
  
"I was in Caracas at the same time you were." I replied, "Only I was with C-for-Charlie Company."  
  
"Oh my God." Aunt Daphne exclaimed, "I thought being with Baker Company was bad, but I remember a crusty old first sergeant saying, 'I'm glad I'm not those poor bastards in Charlie Company. They're really catching hell'."  
  
Good old "Danger Prone Daphne" did it again, apparently. She said something about winning a journalistic excellence award for her work in South America but I wasn't paying much attention. Instead I was amazed by the courage and strength of Aunt Daphne going unarmed into a combat zone as a correspondent. I remember one guy that followed Boat Troop on one of its patrols through the Amazon. They found him six days later, floating face down in the water. When we turned him over we found his throat had been torn out and he'd been gutted while still living.  
  
"Well," I replied, "It's time I get to bed."  
  
It's a cop out, I know, but how do I tell them the horrors I witnessed in South Am. How can I tell them what it's like to creep silently through the jungle at night on a LRRP (Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol)? They wouldn't understand what it's like to march through the Andes with your weapon, a heavy pack, and the very real prospect of what it's like to have the very real fear that you won't see the sun set over the landscape again. Not even Daphne knows what it's like to see your best friend in the unit cut down in his prime. In my six years I saw a lot of combat, I saw people get hurt, I saw people die.  
  
"So what, you're gonna just leave us again?" asks a voice behind me. I recognize the little punk anywhere. Scrappy Doo.  
  
"Scrappy Doo, how are you?" I ask sarcastically. We'd always hated each other from since I moved in. He was being a jealous little brat over the new kid in the house and I don't take kindly to hostile actions. So for the six years I lived with Uncle Shaggy we fought day and night.  
  
"Just because you're a big, tough soldier boy now doesn't mean I can't....." Scrappy begins.  
  
"Scrappy, unless you want me to throw you into the food processor, you'd best zip it!" I reply.  
  
"Bring it on!" Scrappy says, putting up his fists.  
  
"Just try it." I said, giving him a cold stare.  
  
He's intimidated, but to his credit he doesn't show it. "You-you think you're so tough! I didn't run away from my problems..."  
  
"You'd best not mention her, Scrappy, otherwise Uncle Shaggy and Uncle Scooby aren't gonna find your remains." I reply, with a low voice, as I drag my rucksack up the stairs to my old room.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
(Unknown POV)  
  
It has been far too long, being imprisoned in this accursed chest. We, thirteen of the most terrifying ghosts to ever have been released upon the face of the earth, are now imprisoned once more in the confines of the Chest of Demons.  
  
The traitors, Bogle and Weerd, abandoned us to this fate with their constant screw ups. And now they are but lap dogs for the mortals that locked us away. Vincent Van Ghoul is the only one who knows of our location. For once we were trapped for good, he took us away, that much we know.  
  
But we know the prophesy in which a mortal, with true darkness in his or her heart, will free us upon the world once more. And vengeance will be ours. What a terrible and glorious vengeance it will be too.  
  
There is one more part of the prophesy. One man, a warrior of great skill, who battles inner demons constantly will either expedite our release or prevent it entirely. But once we are released, we will be unstoppable for the evil one will destroy our prison forever!  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
AN: I know, I know, not consistent with the storyline, but I figured I try an alternate universe type fic. So please approach this with an open mind and any mistakes I've made are the result of not having seen the series for a while. Things will be explained as the story unfolds, but I don't have a lot of time these days, so updates will be fairly slow. 


	2. We Didn't Start the Fire

We Didn't Start the Fire  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before. Billy Joel owns the song We Didn't Start the Fire.  
  
Eternity - Thanks for the review, I appreciated it. This chapter's just a bit more explanation as to why Hiram left so abruptly.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Well have we done thrice valiant countrymen! Yet all's not done! Yet keep the French the field!" - Henry V, William Shakespeare  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnny Ray  
  
South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe DiMaggio  
  
Joe McCarthy, Richard Nixon, Studebaker, Television  
  
North Korea, South Korea, Marilyn Monroe  
  
Rosenbergs, H Bomb, Sugar Ray, Panmunjom  
  
Brando, The King And I, and The Catcher In The Rye  
  
Eisenhower, Vaccine, England's got a new queen  
  
Maciano, Liberace, Santayana goodbye  
  
We didn't start the fire  
  
It was always burning  
  
Since the world's been turning  
  
We didn't start the fire  
  
No we didn't light it  
  
But we tried to fight it  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2143: Lead scout. The guy in the front of the patrol, the first one to fire in a contact or die in the ambush was the position I was in. Behind me were seven other guys from Mountain Troop. Each of us carried a belt kit, field pack, and the sort of weapon we favored in this particular terrain. They were standard issue weapons of course, and we had the choice of the L- 99 Pulse Rifle, the 206 (adding the 40mm M206 grenade launcher to the L- 99), the shotgun, or the electric gun (the burner). The latter two weapons were the lead scout's weapons of choice. Mine was the burner.  
  
True the average contact in the dense bush was at around five to ten meters, and the shotgun was favored for that reason, but I like the fact that with a flip of a small dial on the hand guard I could focus the electrical discharge from a cone of electrical energy to a burst that could hit something accurately up to two hundred meters away.  
  
I had a headband wrapped around my forehead as well, to keep the camouflage paint, sweat and insect repellant out of my eyes. Not advisable if you're a lead scout to be rubbing your eyes constantly. All our communication was done with hand signals and the occasional whisper. Silence was more than golden, as they taught us in Jungle Warfare School, it was life itself.  
  
I moved a branch away, out of my face. The rest of the patrol followed behind me, never more than an arm's length away from each other. I turned my weapon on its side, to take a quick bearing off the Silva compass I taped to one side. I covered it over with a piece of cloth so that an enemy scout wouldn't see a big luminous arrow indicating a human soldier's compass.  
  
I directed the squad left a couple paces and we hadn't moved more than a few meters before I sighted a pair of lamp like eyes staring right at me. I raised my weapon, squeezed the trigger and let old Gollum have it with about eight amperes of electrical current.  
  
"Contact front!" I shouted. At this I advanced with the patrol leader at my heels. The purpose behind this is to recon by fire. Find the size of the enemy force we faced. If it was small enough, destroy it. If not, establish fire superiority and peel back.  
  
As we advanced we saw we'd blundered straight into a reinforced platoon of hostiles. "Peel back!"  
  
What that means is that we would take positions and fire on the enemy, as one of our boys would run to the back of the line, reloading as he ran and resuming fire once he got there. We'd leap frog all the way out of the fray and towards safety, right into the Rio Orinoco Outpost.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Joseph Stalin, Malenkov, Nasser and Prokofiev  
  
Rockefeller, Campanella, Communist Bloc  
  
Roy Cohn, Juan Peron, Toscanini, Dancron  
  
Dien Bien Phu Falls, Rock Around the Clock  
  
Einstein, James Dean, Brooklyn's got a winning team  
  
Davy Crockett, Peter Pan, Elvis Presley, Disneyland  
  
Bardot, Budapest, Alabama, Khrushchev  
  
Princess Grace, Peyton Place, Trouble in the Suez  
  
We didn't start the fire  
  
It was always burning  
  
Since the world's been turning  
  
We didn't start the fire  
  
No we didn't light it  
  
But we tried to fight it  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2143: The sound of explosions. That was what I best remember about the opening days of 2143. I and the seven other guys of my patrol had arrived at Rio Orinoco Outpost for the closing reels of the horror flick the place had become, the soldiers of the 9th Rangers, reinforced by a company from the 15th British Light Infantry Division, we relieved had been living it for five months.  
  
We'd placed a minefield through the ravine crossing the enemy line of advance. And from the sounding explosions of the movement sensitive proximity mines, there were a lot of them. Following the blasts, there was but an eerie silence.  
  
"Maybe they're not coming." Gennaro said, he was a tough, swaggering twenty year old from South Central LA with his ragged fatigues bearing the insignia the 9th Rangers. All he really wanted was to go home. I remember nearly getting shot by the kid when I led the patrol into the outpost.  
  
"Maybe they're turning back." Gennaro said, the kid was shaking, scared, all he wanted was to go home. "Maybe we got 'em all."  
  
The suddenly we heard a feral war cry echoing from the trees, followed by many more just like it. Into the clearing burst a number of zombies, ogres, and Gollums. "Fire!!!"  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Little Rock, Pasternak, Mickey Mantle, Kerouac  
  
Sputnik, Chou En-Lai, Bridge On The River Kwai  
  
Lebanon, Charles de Gaulle, California baseball  
  
Starkwether, Homicide, Children of Thalidomide  
  
Buddy Holly, Ben Hur, Space Monkey, Mafia  
  
Hula Hoops, Castro, Edsel is a no-go  
  
U2, Syngman Rhee, payola and Kennedy  
  
Chubby Checker, Psycho, Belgians in the Congo  
  
We didn't start the fire  
  
It was always burning  
  
Since the world's been turning  
  
We didn't start the fire  
  
No we didn't light it  
  
But we tried to fight it  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2146: I sat up in bed, peering around my old room. I pinched myself to see if it was all real, that I wasn't gonna wake up at my position in Rio Orinoco. The time on my alarm clock read 0300, three a.m., no way in hell I was getting back to sleep. I walked downstairs to run headlong into Aunt Daphne.  
  
"Aunt Daphne," I asked, "What are you doing up?"  
  
"Velma's flying in to Orlando at six o'clock. I'm going to pick her up. Aren't you up a little early?" Daphne asked me.  
  
"Nah, I remember sleeping in short, three to four hour shifts with two of us on guard at any time when we'd be out in the jungle for weeks at a time. I remember one four week patrol where I'd slept an average of two to three hours a night." I replied.  
  
"Really?" Aunt Daphne asked.  
  
"We'd had a lot of contacts." I replied, referring to the number of times we crossed swords with opposing patrols.  
  
"Well, if you're not doing anything, do you want to give me a hand?" Aunt Daphne asks.  
  
"Certainly." I reply. Sleepily I pile into Aunt Daphne's Lincoln Navigator SUV. Within a few minutes of putting on my seatbelt I'm asleep.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Hemingway, Eichman, Stranger in a Strange Land  
  
Dylan, Berlin, Bay of Pigs invasion  
  
Lawrence of Arabia, British Beatlemania  
  
Ole Miss, John Glenn, Liston beats Patterson  
  
Pope Paul, Malcolm X, British Politician sex  
  
J.F.K. blown away, what else do I have to say  
  
We didn't start the fire  
  
It was always burning  
  
Since the world's been turning  
  
We didn't start the fire  
  
No we didn't light it  
  
But we tried to fight it  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2143: I fire my electric gun in a burst that nails a charging Gollum in the mid chest, hitting the creature with about four amps of electricity. I keep firing my weapon again and again, because the creatures have burst into our perimeter around the Rio Orinoco outpost.  
  
I fire on three more that have breached the perimeter and are heading for the infirmary, killing two of them and chasing a third. He turns and jumps me and the war for me turns into a very personal struggle of mano y mano. The creature takes a bite out of my forearm and shouting in pain I shove his face into a puddle of water, holding it under as its limbs thrash violently and its head bucks against my push. It lets go of my forearm and I keep holding its head in water until it drowns.  
  
I grab my weapon up and fire on a zombie that just staggered through a hole in the wire. I also grab a grenade from my belt kit and lob it right into the midst of another group of zombies. All around me I hear fellow soldiers fighting, some dying in the attempt.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2146: I sit awake in the SUV as we pull into the parking lot of Orlando International Airport. I pinch myself to realize I'm not dreaming and I really am back in South America. I look down to see I'm wearing civilian clothes instead of olive drab jungle fatigues. I look around to see that no creatures are sneaking up on me. Flashbacks are never a good thing.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Birth control, Ho Chi Minh, Richard Nixon back again  
  
Moonshot, Woodstock, Watergate, punk rock  
  
Begin, Reagan, Palestine, Terror on the airline  
  
Ayatollah's in Iran, Russians in Afghanistan  
  
Wheel of Fortune, Sally Ride, heavy metal, suicide  
  
Foreign debts, homeless Vets, AIDS, Crack, Bernie Goetz  
  
Hypodermics on the shores, China's under martial law  
  
Rock and Roller cola wars, I can't take it anymore  
  
We didn't start the fire  
  
It was always burning  
  
Since the world's been turning  
  
We didn't start the fire  
  
No we didn't light it  
  
But we tried to fight it  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2146: "Aunt Velma." I say with excitement and emotion, despite my tired state.  
  
"Hiram!" Aunt Velma says and gives me a bear hug. Jesus that woman's stronger than she looks. Or am I getting weaker?  
  
"How have you been?" I ask.  
  
"Good, and you?" Velma replies.  
  
"It's good to be home." I reply, evasively. While it's true, I'm glad I'm home again, I can't help but feel the effects South America left on me. I still visit it in my dreams and flashbacks again and again.  
  
As we head down to the baggage claim I catch sight of a young woman. Then I look twice. She is very familiar to me, even though the last time I saw her was six years ago. I regard her again. Medium height, pleasant figure, small, high breasts, dark brown hair, a rounded nose and strong hips. It hits me like a 10mm explosive tip round. Kate Barnes, my childhood friend who I've had a crush on for years. My heart skips a beat when I see her.  
  
She turns and our eyes meet, "Hiram Becker, can that be you?"  
  
I smile despite myself, "It is."  
  
"When did you get in town?" Kate asks excitedly.  
  
"Last night." I reply.  
  
"You're up a little early aren't you?" Kate said.  
  
"My Aunt Velma just flew in." I reply.  
  
"Really?" Kate asks, "How is she?"  
  
"Good, I guess, I hadn't really heard much from her since she went out west." I reply.  
  
We hug each other, her fingers brushing across a scar on the back of my neck. "Where did that come from?" Kate asks.  
  
"Mortar attack in the Atacama Desert back in 2144." I reply with less emotion than I intended, during that attack the mortar blast killed Arturo and Fife, two of my good buddies in the unit.  
  
"Why did you volunteer to go to South America?" Kate asked me.  
  
"I'm a soldier, I go where I'm ordered to go." I reply. There's no way in hell I'm telling Kate I left for her.  
  
"Don't try pulling that with me." Kate says, her arms folded across her chest, "You tried to leave the Territorial Special Forces and go transfer into the active Regiment."  
  
"I wanted to do my bit." I reply. Kate regards me with those sea blue eyes of hers and I feel like a rat bastard lying to her, though I'm telling a partial truth.  
  
"They'd have called the Territorials up anyway." Kate replies, "I mean not one month after you turned in your paper work the 21st was shipped out to South America."  
  
"That's me, the ever earnest bleeding patriot." I reply. I see Kate's left hand still has the platinum promise ring on it.  
  
"You're still engaged?" I ask.  
  
"Scott and I are still setting a date." Kate replies. She just seems so happy, and that's what drove me away in the first place, "Between his travels as a pharmaceutical salesman and my veterinary work we had to put off the wedding. He was trying to get the manufacturing facilities to make a new drug for wounded soldiers."  
  
"Oh yeah, I remember that. I kept that new morphine mix in two syrettes around my neck any time I was in South Am." I reply.  
  
For an instant I'm twenty-three again and Kate has just invited me to her apartment to tell me about her engagement to Scott. They'd been dating for three years before that and then after they finished undergraduate school they went to tie the knot. For six days I wandered the streets of Jacksonville in a drunken stupor and then decided I had to go into the 22nd Special Forces to get away from this hellhole my life had become. For all my soldierly courage, I can't seem to tell Kate how I really feel about her. What the hell would that accomplish anyway but tears on both sides? I know I'm still on the guest list, but I'm likely gonna get so drunk before and after the wedding to dull my pain.  
  
"Well, I've gotta get going, I'll see you later. You still are at Shaggy's house?" Kate asks.  
  
"I still live there, yes, at least temporarily. You're still at your place?"  
  
"Temporarily." Kate replies, smiling.  
  
God damn, as I live and breathe, because of this woman I repeatedly volunteered for one of the most bloody and destructive theaters of the entire war. I extended my tours months ahead because I had nothing to look forward to. My beloved Kate was marrying another man, and I was left alone in the cold for it.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Kate Barnes walked into the Toyota Tacoma with her father, General Robert Barnes, US Army Air Corps. "Katie, how was Los Angeles?"  
  
"Good." Kate replied, "I ran into Hiram today at the airport."  
  
"How is he doing?" Barnes replied with a grin, "Is he still in the Army?"  
  
"I didn't ask." Kate replied, "South America must've done a number on him."  
  
"It did a number on a lot of soldiers." Barnes replied, "So how's Scott."  
  
"He's fine." Kate replied. Scott Petersen, her fiancé, what a nice guy he was. And that's all she could think of him. Pleasant. Even tempered most of the time. Good looking, reasonably so. Innocuous was the word that readily sprung to mind.  
  
'Hiram, you seemed to be thinking something years ago when I told you about Scott. And now when I mentioned it, I saw some sort of look in your eyes, a kind of sadness. What are you thinking? Was that what made you volunteer for three extended tours in South America?' Kate thought as they drove off back to the house.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
As Hiram lay sound asleep in the back seat, Velma and Daphne talked amongst themselves. "Did you see him with Kate earlier?" Daphne said.  
  
"Yeah, I did. You don't think he's..." Velma said.  
  
"He definitely is still in love with her." Daphne said.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
As they continue to gossip about this, thinking I don't hear them, I can't help but realize how accurate my aunts' assessments are. I still love Kate. There was barely an instant in South Am, except when I was in combat or creeping through the brush; that she wasn't on my mind. I remember one or two LRRPs (Long Range Recon Patrols) where thinking of her kept me marching through the jungle or across narrow mountain trails in the Andes. I gotta resolve this.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
TBC 


	3. Soldier Looking for a Mission

Soldier Looking for a Mission  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before.  
  
Eternity - Thanks for the encouragement, I really appreciated it. It's not often someone likes my AU fics...  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2146: Sapphire Bay. Shit. I'm still home. I'm still only home. On my loneliest nights in South America all I could think about was getting home. Now that I'm here, all I can think about is leaving. But why do I feel this way? Ol' Gollum ain't lurking in the bush anymore, we triumphed over the Biohazard. But why do I feel something else afoot? At least back during the war, every second I stayed within these walls I got weaker. Every second ol' Gollum spent out in the brush he got stronger.  
  
"Hey Hiram." Bogle says, "Did you know Kate's in town?"  
  
"Yeah, I saw her last earlier this morning." I reply, "She and her dad flew over here in their Cessna."  
  
"Hey, do you still have that thing for her?" Bogle says, making the 'pretty eyes' look and coddling up to Weerd, who's wearing a dress.  
  
"Oh Hiram, you're so manly and strong, I wanna ditch Scott and...." Weerd says.  
  
"Not funny!" I shout and punch at Weerd, I wind up punching through him and hitting the wall.  
  
"OW! DAMN IT!" I shout.  
  
"You should know ghosts aren't solid." Weerd says, "And Hiram, tell me about my eyes."  
  
"Oh Kate, they're bluer than the sapphire seas...." Bogle says.  
  
As annoyed as I am, I'm finding this funny, so I laugh. Arnot, the ex- Colonial Legionnaire in our ranks always used to say that humor kept him going when he was in the Legion.  
  
"Why are you laughing dude?" Bogle says, "I found those words in a draft of a poem you were writing about Kate in your diary."  
  
"Why you....!" I shout.  
  
"Hiram?" Shaggy says, he's knocking on my door, "Kate called five minutes ago and asked if you wanted to go running with her."  
  
"I'll be right down there, Uncle Shaggy." I say and throw on one of my sand brown t-shirts and a pair of shorts and my sneakers.  
  
Right as I get downstairs I hear the doorbell ringing. I see Kate standing in the doorway as Uncle Shaggy opens the door. She pets Scooby on the head and smiles and waves when she sees me.  
  
We stretch and warm up for our run. "Take it easy on me, OK? I'm not in as good shape as I used to be." Kate says.  
  
"I will." I reply, "I'm not gonna take you on the Fan Dance or anything."  
  
"Good, I was relieved when you didn't come down in fatigues and boots with a fifty five pound backpack with extras for me." Kate laughes back, "I remembered seeing a couple guys who just finished the Fan Dance during Selection when my Dad and I were in Wales. Twenty-six miles running through the hills of the Welsh countryside with all that gear, that's insane."  
  
"That wasn't nearly half bad, once we did the Fan Dance, the rest of the course didn't seem nearly half bad." I reply. Actually it was glancing at that little picture of Kate I kept taped inside my compass that kept me going during the longer forced marches we did.  
  
We start out at a brisk clip, and I take some time to admire Kate's slim, athletic form, in her shorts and University of California t-shirt. As we've run three miles, we pass by the St. Michael's Catholic Church. We can hear the choir practicing inside as we stretch on the front lawn.  
  
"What are they singing?" Kate asks, the song is in French and it's one very familiar to me.  
  
"J'avais un camarade, de meilleur, il n'en est pas," the choir sings, "Dans la paix et dans la guerre. Nous allions comme deux freres. Marchant d'un meme pas (bis)."  
  
I'm distracted as I hear this song. I remember Arnot's singing old Legion marching songs in French and German used to annoy us on field exercises and long marches. It makes my hair stand on end, as I heard this song from both legionnaires in South America and whenever we buried one of our own fallen men.  
  
"Hiram?" Kate asks, there's concern in her eyes, I can see it.  
  
"They're singing an old song that B-Squadron used to sing, J'avais un camerade, I had a mate." I reply, "One of our boys in the unit was an ex member of the Colonial Legion. His singing used to annoy us, but this song grew on us one day in South America."  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
South America, 2142: "Arnot, will you shut up. You've been singing all day since we got into the bivouac, I'm sick of it." Fife groans under the weight of his field pack and rifle.  
  
We're staying at a Colonial Legion bivouac for the night, and from there a truck is gonna come take us back to the JSOC Compound outside of Manaus. These legionnaires are a tough, battle hardened breed. They've been fighting the Biohazard in the colonies since it started in 2138. To a man they are sun tanned, with tattoos crisscrossing their arms. Their white kepis with the black bills, worn only in encampments, distinguish them from far off.  
  
"Mais une balle siffle, qui de nous sera frappe," the singing drifts from a group of legionnaires burying a recently deceased comrade, "Le voila qui tombe a terre. Il est la dans la poussiere."  
  
As soon as he hears the singing, Arnot springs to attention. He is a fellow with longish brown hair, with a mustache growing out and several days of beard growth. We've all got that from being in the jungle brush for seventeen days on a LRRP. He's joining their singing.  
  
"Alright, I've had enough of this shit." Arturo said, "Arnot, shut the fuck...."  
  
The thirty year old from Los Angeles is on his ass right before he finishes, "Have you no respect for the dead, Arturo? These men are mourning the passing of a comrade. A legionnaire is loyal not to the state but to his fellow legionnaires alone."  
  
"Mon coeur est dechire. (bis)." The singing continues.  
  
"It does seem a bit crass to shout at Arnot over his singing now, doesn't it?" Robin says. Trooper (Private) Robin Fenway is a nineteen year old from Ireland. He's our newcomer to B Squadron and this is his first patrol.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2146 : "Ma main il veut me prendre, mais je charge mon fusil." The singing continues, "Adieu donc, adieu mon frere."  
  
"What does that mean?" Kate asks.  
  
"My hand he wants to take. But I load my rifle. Farewell then, farewell my brother." I reply, emotion creeping into my voice, "We used to sing that whenever one of our guys fell in combat since that day."  
  
Kate seems almost ashamed, as if she'd inadvertently stepped on the graves of deceased soldiers, "I'm sorry, I...."  
  
"Don't be." I reply.  
  
"Dans le ciel et sur la terre." The singers continue, "Soyons toujours unis. (bis)"  
  
"In the sky and on the ground. Let us always be united (repeat)." I continue to translate.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2143: Another explosion tears across the JSOC Compound. The creatures are really intensifying their assault on the Joint Special Operations Command area, where a lot of nasty raids into their territory have been staged. It's one of our grenades as we blow away the last remnants of an enemy raid.  
  
"And stay out you bastards!" I shout, firing the last trickle of charge from my electric gun.  
  
"Robin?" I ask, turning to see if our signaler who called in the air strike that saved our life can see his work. He's lying dead, a hole in his forehead, in the bottom of the bunker.  
  
A few hours later, we stand in ranks, the only Mountain Troop casualty being a young ex-undergraduate student from Ireland. Arnot leads our song, "J'avais un camerade, de meilleur, il n'en est pas."  
  
"Soldier." A second lieutenant demands, "What are those men singing?"  
  
I recognize him, Second Lieutenant Osbourne, a pretty boy from Pennsylvania who throws his rank around. He's with the Rangers, and he ordered Robin to do the task that killed him, raising his antennae up made him a huge target. Some Gollum sniper couldn't resist the shot.  
  
"They're singing for Robin, sir." I reply coldly, because this gung ho bastard wanted air support when we were doing well enough to shove the enemy away Robin was killed.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
(Hiram's POV)  
  
"Katie, the nicest girl in Ferris High School." I remember hearing those comments about Kate, and they always rang true. She was the social butterfly, the sweetest girl on campus. I'd always liked her since we knew each other. Since her father got stationed at Patrick Field, down by Melbourne she and I had known each other rather well. Going to high school and eventually college together, we had been friends for years.  
  
Now the woman of my dreams is off to marry someone else. I've got nothing left, this little jog, the occasional little get together we'd have, only table scraps. Inevitably I'm gonna have to leave. But there's no more war, no more South American Theater of Operations to lose myself in.  
  
I wasn't suicidal or anything, don't get me wrong, but if I did die in the area of operations (AO) it wouldn't matter. Kate wouldn't have me and my feelings for her to worry her, if she did somehow know, and I'd be dead and at peace. Maybe it was in the back of my mind when I volunteered for the most dangerous missions in South America, or when I asked to have my tours extended to a point where my CO, Colonel Gates, practically had to order me to take leave.  
  
I never went anywhere near home when they made me go on leave. I visited Kate one or two times, but that's about it. Even those short periods where I'd see her were painful, because I knew after we'd have a friendly lunch or dinner conversation, or meet over coffee, she'd go back to her apartment with Scott and I'd be kicked to the curb again. I remember after one such moment, in 2144, when they needed volunteers from Mountain Troop to end their leave breaks early for the Andean campaign I volunteered.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
(Kate's POV)  
  
There always seems to be a lot on Hiram's mind, I've noticed that over the past nine years. When Scott and I first got together our sophomore year of college, Hiram was the first person I told. He seemed happy enough about it, but there seemed to be something bothering him and he just refused to say exactly what it was.  
  
He started acting unusual when I asked him, "Have you met Scott Petersen, my boyfriend?"  
  
Could it be? Could he possibly have had or still have feelings for me? I don't know, it's like he has this deep dark secret he refuses to tell me. I'm pretty sure that he didn't volunteer for South America completely on the grounds of patriotism, though I know that's a big part of it. I'm almost certain he volunteered because of me. I'm not gonna ask Hiram, because what if he doesn't have feelings for me anymore? At least I know Scott has feelings for me.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
(Hiram's POV)  
  
Even if Kate was single, I wouldn't move on her. I love her, that's for damn sure, but I don't want to subject her to the mess that I've become. I wake up screaming a lot in the middle of the night, wake up thinking that I'm in the jungle when I'm really safe at home.  
  
As we run back to my house we run with the occasional word spoken. She's catching me up on how she and Dr. Monroe, some older fellow I've never met, are becoming partners in a clinic somewhere in Los Angeles.  
  
We get inside the house and I break out a couple bottles of mineral water. Passing one to Kate I go into the kitchen to get myself an orange. "Kate, do want some fruit or any snacks?" I say as I go in.  
  
"No thanks, I'm good." Kate replies, she's been looking at an embossed piece of stationary with the US Army seal on it.  
  
"Are you re-enlisting?" Kate asks me.  
  
I nod, "I'm staying with the Territorial Army though, and with the 21st Special Forces."  
  
"Are you gonna take them up on it?" Kate asks me.  
  
"On what?" I ask.  
  
"To: Sergeant Hiram George Becker, US Army. An opening for a class at the US Army Warrant Officer Candidate School is open for you. If you desire to take it, when you've re-enlisted contact your detailer for orders to attend. Signed, Colonel Archibald Gates, US Army." Kate replies, reading the words of my old CO word for word. He's the commanding officer of the 21st Special Forces, and a man who personally led patrols through the South American brush on more than one occasion.  
  
"Hiram, this is a great opportunity." Kate says, "I mean, a Special Forces Warrant Officer, that's no mean feat. That means the organization thinks you're a valuable investment."  
  
I know that, Katie, I know, trust me. I've been told that a million times. Warrant officers in the Special Forces a rare breed indeed. They're specialists in their areas of expertise, mine would be mountain warfare, weapons, and trauma management.  
  
"Kate, I've considered it, but I think I'd rather beat the sword into a plowshare." I reply.  
  
"Hiram, you've got a decade of distinguished service under your belt, you're a mid-grade NCO, highly decorated." Kate replied.  
  
Kate, the Army brat that she is, understands the whole offer to me better than I ever did. "My re-enlistment ceremony's next week. You're invited if you'd like to come along."  
  
"Actually, Sergeant, be ready for that ceremony this evening."  
  
"Sir?" I ask, noticing Lieutenant General Barnes, Kate's father.  
  
"I pulled a couple of strings." Barnes replies.  
  
"May I ask why, sir?" I ask.  
  
"I understand you've been offered a promotion to warrant officer." Barnes states. Why the hell isn't he answering my question? I can't, however ask a general, 'Sir, may I ask why you're being diversionary?'  
  
Kate, however, isn't covered by those rules. "Dad, what's happening? Is there something wrong?"  
  
"Katie, it's classified." Barnes says, "Please, leave us alone."  
  
"Sir," I ask, "What really is happening?"  
  
"Sergeant Becker, you've been selected for a mission of the utmost importance. I can't brief you on the specifics, but...." Barnes says.  
  
"Sir," I ask the silver haired general, "Might I ask why I'm being requested."  
  
"You're resourceful, a skilled operator, an exceptional soldier..." Barnes begins.  
  
"Sir, there were other, more decorated members in my unit." I reply.  
  
"Sergeant, there were more decorated operators in both the Territorial and Active Special Forces units. But you have a unique qualification." Barnes replies.  
  
"Sir, might I ask what, precisely that is?" I ask.  
  
"No Sergeant, I cannot mention the details. I've already told you too much. You will be briefed at 0900 tomorrow." Barnes says, as he walks out.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
I'm a soldier, looking for a mission. Looks like one has already found me. Whatever it is has to be pretty damned important to have a general pushing my re-enlistment back nine days.  
  
All this is secondary, as my heart's beating at a million beats per second. I'm wearing my Army greens, or my Type A uniform. It's a short sleeved, light green shirt, with darker green trousers and black shoes. On my head is my hard earned sand brown beret. The badge on it is the crossed arrows with the dagger through the center. A small scroll on it reads 'De Oppresso Liber' (Freedom to the Oppressed), the motto of the 21st Special Forces Regiment, TA. I've got quite an array of salad (military decorations). On my chest are the silver parachutist's wings, the combat infantryman's badge, all the ribbons I've earned ranging from the South American campaign ribbon with two stars. I earned the Silver Star for valor, among other medals.  
  
General Barnes is standing opposite me. His silver Army Air Corps pilot's wings glisten prominently in the setting Florida sun, as does his master parachutist's insignia and his six rows of ribbons. Atop his head is his Army issue officer's combination cover. I salute him as I stop my approach to him.  
  
General Barnes says, "Sergeant Hiram George Becker, raise your right hand and repeat after me."  
  
I do so and he says, " I (state your name), do solemly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God."  
  
"I, Hiram George Becker, do solemly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God." I reply.  
  
"Congratulations, Sergeant Becker." Barnes says. His aide, a lieutenant I don't recognize, hands me a contract that's promising another six years of my life to the military. I sign it without hesitation.  
  
"I do hope in six weeks I'll be swearing in a Warrant Officer Hiram Becker." Barnes says.  
  
"I'll consider it, sir." I reply.  
  
"Your commanding officer seems to think rather highly of you, Hiram." Barnes says.  
  
"Sir," I hear a voice and see an officer, clad in a similar manner. Colonel Archibald Gates, US Army approaches us in his Class A uniform, "I was about to inform Sergeant Becker of that fact. The sergeant has my recommendations."  
  
I know Archie Gates well enough that the reason he's here is not just to congratulate one of his men. He's still that same square jawed fellow, with a compact, muscular build and salt and pepper hair. One of the best officers I've ever served under.  
  
The two men talk amongst themselves and I wade into the crowd of well wishers consisting of Uncle Shaggy, Aunt Velma, Uncle Fred, the whole gang, Kate and even Scott her fiancé. Though the last of them I'm not really pleased to see, I smile nonetheless.  
  
I'm particularly annoyed when Scott salutes me. "Scott, you don't salute a sergeant, you salute an officer. And you're a damn civilian."  
  
I grin as I say this, despite my gravelly tone. "Aren't you gonna become an officer?" Scott asks.  
  
"Warrant officer." Kate corrects, "He's a technical specialist in his field, as opposed to being an officer like Daddy."  
  
"Jeez, I'm sorry." Scott says.  
  
I walk into the kitchen of Kate's house and see a cake with a sergeant's stripes on it. The writing reads, 'Congratulations Sergeant Hiram G. Becker, B Squadron, 21st Special Forces'  
  
"Surprise asshole." Says a voice.  
  
"Stoney, what the hell are you doing here?" I ask.  
  
I'm talking to Corporal "Stoney" Brown, he was a newcomer to our unit in 2143, and was one damn good machine gunner.  
  
"We had to congratulate our future mountaineering warfare specialist." Lance Corporal Linkovich Chumovsky says, he's a fellow from Estonia who was assigned to us in 2143 as a newly assigned trooper. Now three years older at twenty-two, he's still as strong as an ox and about as intelligent as one too.  
  
"At least you're not gonna be jabbing us with needles, like when you were patrol medic." David Morgan remarks. He's another of that ilk in their early twenties that joined up in the later stages of the war.  
  
"Yeah, that bloody hurt." Sergeant Jack Falstaff remarks. He's a big, stout fellow in his late thirties, an avid diver, skier, mountaineer and cyclist from Swindon, in England.  
  
"Hey, you guys must be Stoney, Link, Dave, and Falstaff." Kate remarks.  
  
"How do you know about us?" Falstaff asks.  
  
"Hiram wrote home about you guys all the time." Kate replies.  
  
"Aw, isn't that sweet." Jack replies, "We meant so much to you that you wrote home about us in your letters."  
  
"They were complaints about the lot of you." I reply, grinning, "Especially the way Falstaff over here overate."  
  
"I'm still pissed about the fact that you idiots put curry powder in all my ration packs. I absolutely detested that stuff when I was with the 4th Welsh Division down in India back in 2131." Jack replies, "I hoped you wankers didn't drink out of the tea urn back when we were on the Counter Terrorism team, because I pissed in it every morning."  
  
"You're not gonna write him up, are you, Warrant Officer Becker?" Dave asks.  
  
"Of course not, I'll just make sure his bicycle disappears every day." I reply.  
  
"I know, 'If anyone touches you while I'm away, I'll knot their bollocks so tight they'll be pissing out there ears.' Find some more original threats dude." Stoney replies.  
  
"That's Sergeant Dude to you Brown." Falstaff laughs.  
  
"No, Sergeant Dude is what we call Hiram." Dave replies.  
  
"Yeah, but now it'll be Warrant Officer Dude." Falstaff replies.  
  
Well, it seems I've finally found what I wanted. A mission, that's all I need. As I watch Kate and Scott sharing a tender moment on the back porch of the house I can't wait till the briefing and pre-training phases for the mission start. I need to get into the zone, and fast.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
TBC 


	4. Warning Order

Warning Order  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before. I don't own the lyrics to Lili Marlene either.  
  
Eternity – Thanks for being so patient and reviewing and all. I promise the action will come soon? Do you think Hiram should tell Kate how he feels about her?  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2143: LRRPs, the bread and butter operations of the South American campaign. Between us, the 3rd Pathfinder Battalion attached to the 173rd Airborne Brigade, and the 112th Argentinean Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, the Fourth Army had more than enough intelligence to conduct the South American campaign.  
  
The big strategic picture didn't matter much to us grunts on the ground. What mattered was transmitting intel, getting some sleep, carrying enough food, water and ammo and getting through each day in the brush alive.  
  
Once again I'm lead scout, leading my seven man patrol through the jungle. We're crossing a fairly fast moving part of the Amazon River. Me and Arnot are across first, because as the scouts, that's our job. Arnot is covering my back as I cover the other five men crossing the stream by a rope bridge. Each man carries enough rope to pool resources to construct such a structure.  
  
Both of us have electric guns to cover our mates crossing the jungle. We cross without incident. It's when we move back into the tree line that we run back into Ol' Gollum. Again, we establish fire superiority. Both Arnot and I open up with bursts of electricity and we peel back, reloading as we run. The other guys are putting down fire as well, every pair peeling back when his magazine is empty.  
  
I trip as I run and find myself staring into the face of a zombie that was lying face down by the streambed. I barely get my weapon into its face before zapping it with about six amps of electricity to put it down for good. The stench of burned, rotted flesh is overpowering.........  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2146: I know for a fact I'm not gonna sleep at all tonight. South America just left way too many nightmares. I walk downstairs and start to brew a pot of coffee. As I do so, I hear a key being turned and I whirl to face the front door to see Aunt Velma come in.  
  
"Aunt Velma, what are you doing up at this hour?" I ask.  
  
"Jet lag, I've still got Philippine time on my head." Aunt Velma replies. She was in Manila, with 7th Civil Engineers, Florida National Guard, helping with the reconstruction project.  
  
In the entire Pacific Rim, Manila suffered the worst under the Biohazard, losing nearly eighty percent of its civilian population to the infection. Spearheaded by the 6th Rangers in 2144 the 91st and 112th Philippine Infantry Divisions retook their state capital. Aunt Velma's unit, the Civil Engineers, are an outfit that works normally on the home front and rear areas, concentrating on building bases, rebuilding destroyed cities, and rescue efforts. They had been working in Manila since the Biohazard was defeated in the Philippines in early 2145.  
  
"Are you brewing more than one?" Aunt Velma asks.  
  
"There's enough for at least six cups. But Uncle Shaggy hates the way I brew coffee, he says it's too strong." I reply.  
  
There's a knock at the door and Aunt Velma goes over to answer it. "Hi Kate, I see you're up early."  
  
"California time, I'm still trying to get it out of my head." Kate says, as she walks in, wearing jeans and a short sleeved shirt.  
  
"Well, I'm off to go rent a few movies Shaggy wanted to watch. We're gonna go catch up on some old times." Velma says, "I'll leave you two alone."  
  
Kate looks astonished for a bit and then says, "I really came to help you pack."  
  
"You know I can't say where I'm going." I reply.  
  
"Black or green?" Kate asks.  
  
"Both." I reply, "I might be needing both."  
  
What Kate referred to were the two types of kit a Special Forces operator uses. Black kit refers to our Counter-Terrorist gear where one dresses in black from head to toe. Green kit is anything for 'normal' military operations, stuff we wore in South America for example.  
  
The radio in the living room is on as I offer Kate a coffee cup. She accepts and we both catch the first notes to the song. Despite myself I smile. The song's name is Lili Marlene, though it's over two hundred years old, a bunch of young female singers have brought it to life again. It's a classic soldier's song from World War II, a favorite of both German and Allied soldiers and has been translated into forty languages. Back in South America, Radio Havana used to broadcast it through its own transmitters and relay stations all over South America. This song was played promptly at 21:30 (nine thirty at night to you civilians) before the broadcasters signed off. All the years in South America, every night I could I'd listen to this song. It reminded me of the woman in front of me now, the woman I love.  
  
The voice of Annette Chavez, one of Latin America and more recently the world's more popular singers echoes through the living room, "Underneath the lantern, by the barrack gate. Darling I remember the way you used to wait. T'was there that you whispered tenderly, that you loved me. You'd always be, my Lilli of the Lamplight, my own Lilli Marlene."  
  
Kate looks at me and says, "I love this song. I used to listen to it every day when I tuned in to the Armed Forces stations back in LA."  
  
"You actually got Radio Havana over there?" I ask.  
  
"No," Kate says, "But Radio San Diego used to broadcast it all the time to the Navy folks on the coast. I always used to hear it at five o'clock, just as I would be driving home from work.  
  
"Time would come for roll call, time for us to part, darling I'd caress you. And press you to my heart, and there 'neath that far-off lantern light, I'd hold you tight, We'd kiss good night, my Lilli of the Lamplight, my own Lilli Marlene." Annette continues to sing.  
  
Even in the Andes I'd used to get this from Radio Lima at the same time. This was their signature song. I remember there was damn near a riot when it didn't play in time. No matter where I was in South America, when I'd hear this song, I'd instantly think of Kate. For the duration of the song, her engagement to Scott didn't exist, I'd just have my special memories of her. My own Lili Marlene, she'll always be.  
  
"Orders came for sailing, somewhere over there. All confined to barracks was more than I could bear. I knew you were waiting in the street. I heard your feet, but could not meet, my Lili of the Lamplight, my own Lili Marlene." Annette's singing continues in the background.  
  
"That verse is so sad too. I remember feeling that way when Scott would go on his Peace Corps trips back in college." Kate says.  
  
It always hurts to hear about the fact that she happily has Scott. But even so, the song Lili Marlene always makes me realize just how much I love this woman. It must show too, because Kate's eyes soften as they meet mine.  
  
"Hiram, are you alright? What's the matter?" Kate says, as she puts an arm around my shoulder. As much as want to pull away, I don't.  
  
"Nothing, just a memory or two from South America I don't really want to remember." I reply.  
  
"Resting in our billets, just behind the lines. Even tho' we're parted, your lips are close to mine. You wait where that lantern softly gleams, your sweet face seems. To haunt my dreams. My Lili of the Lamplight. My own Lili Marlene."  
  
This verse always has a tendency to get me real emotional inside. I remember one night in South America where it made the words to a letter Kate wrote me practically come to life.  
  
"That last verse always gets me like this." I reply, "I've known guys who died before they ever saw their sweethearts again."  
  
Memories of South America have been long overstaying their welcome. I know I'm going to the Sinai Peninsula. Kate figures I'm going to some desert location when I quietly indicate her to pull my desert fatigues as I take down my black kit. Unlike members of the 23rd Territorial Special Forces and the active 22nd Special Forces Regiments I've not served any tours in North Africa. All my tours were in South America, so other than the odd desert warfare training mockups before the war I rarely used them until the Atacama Desert campaign of 2145.  
  
South America was a theater that will never leave my mind as long as I shall live. Almost five years of creeping through the jungle, tiptoeing through the enemy's backyard, knowing that the next patrol may just have been my last, the last step that I would take would be the next one that I made, it had its effect on me.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
As soon as we're in Kate's truck on the way to the airport I look over the manifest of the unit I'm supposed to lead. All seven of the men under my command for this op I've served with before in South America. The most junior of them has six months of combat time, but six months in South Am is six months too many.  
  
The first one I read about is our ex-legionnaire, Arnot. Easily one of the most purposeful, practical men in the regiment, and a fellow member of Mountain Troop, I spent most of my years in South America serving alongside him. A jaded, toughened fighter, he'd be a great fellow to have on a patrol.  
  
The second is Sergeant Jack Falstaff, a guy that was crusty even when Jesus Christ finished jump school. He's from Boat Troop, the guys that specialize in riverine and waterborne operations in the Regiment. He was with me on my first tour in South Am as a newly assigned trooper.  
  
The third soldier is Linkovich "Link" Chumovsky, the Estonian from Air Troop. He only had one word in his vocabulary, and it started with 'f' and usually had the word outrageous tacked onto the end of it. I remember one training exercise where we just got back from a ten mile forced march only to have Gunny, the Marine gunnery sergeant in charge of Mountain Troop, turn us around for another eight mile march. The first thing Link said was, "Fucking outrageous."  
  
Stoney Brown is the fourth member of the patrol. He'd spent two years in South Am as well, with Air Troop. He was always the fruit, some say it was caused by breathing bad air in a HALO (High Altitude Low Opening) parachute jump. Off duty he was the biggest '60s/'70s guy anyone ever knew.  
  
Dave Morgan, the fifth member of our patrol, is a precise, high strung fellow from the Army Corps of Engineers. He, Stoney and Link joined the unit in '43, after the old hands like me and Falstaff. He, Stoney and Link are inseparable, meaning if one of them makes trouble the other two aren't far behind.  
  
"Shorty" is the sixth guy in the patrol and he's the only Marine and the second guy from Boat Troop. All 5'2" of him is as strong as an ox. If his body matched the strength of his heart he'd be 6'6" and muscled like Adonis. He's been with us since '43 as well. He's different from the two new guys we've got in. They were two college buddies who joined the army on a dare and wound up going though Selection on another dare. Amazingly they made it through the program, so their good guys, but I don't know either of them as well, since they came in at the tail end of South Am in 2145. Their names are Bobby Budnick and Eddie Bull, better called Donkey Lips in the squadron.  
  
"What are you thinking?" Kate asks me.  
  
"Just about the fact that I'm team leader." I reply. Kate knows better than to ask, I told her about my first op as team leader and seeing lead scout get blown up by a land mine back in 2143.  
  
"Jesus Hiram! What happened to you out there? It's like South America did something to your head." Kate asks, she seems hurt as she says this, "Why did you push us away?"  
  
"I never did that." I reply, in protest, "I had a job to do, and I had to do it. Kate, I saw so much down there, stuff I'd rather forget..."  
  
My voice must sound shakier than anything else, because Kate looks a bit taken aback. "I saw a lot of action in South Am, Kate, I saw a lot of people get hurt. I saw a lot of people die. I lived day by day not knowing when my number might be up, not knowing when it'd be my second dog tag they'd collect, not knowing whether it'd be me they'd be carting away in a body bag."  
  
"Hiram, I'm sorry..." Kate says as we walk through the parking lot.  
  
"Don't be." I reply.  
  
Kate throws her arms around me, in a friendly way, "Hiram, take care of yourself out there."  
  
"I promise I'll be back." I reply, not really sure if I can hold it.  
  
Trying to be brave, Kate blinks back a tear. "I'll hold you to that, soldier." Kate replies.  
  
I turn away and walk, knowing she will likely shed more of them. Kate, my greatest strength and my greatest weakness, will I ever see you again?  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
TBC 


	5. Rallying the Troops

Rallying the Troops  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before. The Doors own the lyrics to the song This is the End. Some of the weapons described can be found on hiveseeker.com, look under the Alien Resurrection page.  
  
Eternity – Again, thanks for reviewing when no one else does.  
  
AN: The term ol' Gollum or Gollum refers not only to the main creature faced in the Biohazard, but also to enemy forces in general. Some of the characters in this story are a tribute to one of my favorite stories, Salute Your Shorts.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
South America, 2143: Team leader. Every decision I make means life or death for myself and the three guys under my command. Arnot, myself, Link and the new guy, Farley are in patrol formation with Farley as lead scout. This is a LRRP, meaning we check for the presence of enemy troops, call in fire and pull the hell out.  
  
As we walk through the jungle, I keep my thumb on the safety of my L-99 Pulse Rifle. I usually flick it to single whenever patrolling, because when in combat I prefer rapid single shots. Arnot, lugging the radio behind me, always sets it on burst. Farley's carrying a burner, most lead scouts prefer carrying either it or the shotgun. Link's got the most firepower out of the four of us, because he's got the M206 rifle/grenade launcher combo. It's basically an aluminum tube that holds a single 40mm grenade bolted under the L-99.  
  
The jungle is abuzz with the noise of animals and birds awakening to business as usual in the morning. You learn gradually to filter it out as you patrol through the jungle. It's when its quiet that you start to worry, because it means either a predator's on your tail (a pissed off jaguar is just as dangerous as a marauding zombie any day of the week, insomuch that it can kill you just as easily), or the enemy's tailing you.  
  
Trooper (Private) Farley's new; a bit of a smart mouthed know it all, about nineteen years old. He gets on my nerves sometimes, with that mouth of his, especially if he happens to overhear me talking about Kate. But I can't afford to dislike anyone on patrol, because Farley could well save my life as I could his.  
  
Farley's hand goes up, it's the hand sign for mines. Shit. Landmines. Usually that means an ambush is nearby. It happened to some guys from Air Troop. They ran smack into a minefield, and as soon as one of their boys got blown to shards, ol' Gollum decided to pounce. Several ogres had killed two more patrol members and if it hadn't been for the signaler calling in an air strike, they'd all have been wasted.  
  
A loud bang shatters the morning tranquility. The next thing I know is myself and the rest of the patrol hits the dirt. "Where's Farley?" I shout.  
  
"He's dead sarge!" Link shouts, firing a 206 bomb downrange, killing a quartet of zombies.  
  
"God damn it!" I shout, "This is Alpha One One to Hotel Zero Two we're under attack, need extraction, over!"  
  
The skimmers come fast and one of them, an SK-70 Black Hawk touches down. Arnot and Link are covering me as I grab Farley's misshapen body and haul it into the aircraft. When we're all aboard, the pilot lifts off.  
  
As I sit in the cabin of the skimmer, I see an OK-3 observation skimmer flying a perimeter with a couple Predator gunships circling. They're firing rockets into the jungle, setting fire to the foliage, blasting anything that was lurking around the mines and the mines themselves into oblivion. All they do is fly circular orbits, blasting rockets into the jungle. The rockets are loaded with an incendiary compound that sets fire to almost anything it touches, foliage, earth, human flesh, it makes no difference.  
  
I see several burning zombies, ogres, and Gollums staggering, cloaked in flames from the burning jungle. Like grotesque, life sized plastic toys their flesh melts before my eyes. The smoke wafts into the skimmer, and I smell smoke that is tinged with the aroma of scorched earth, foliage and flesh.  
  
This is the end, beautiful friend.  
  
This is the end, my only friend, the end. Of our elaborate plans, the end  
  
Of everything that stands, the end  
  
No safety or surprise, the end  
  
I'll never look into your eyes...again  
  
Can you picture what will be, So limitless and free  
  
Desperately in need...of some...stranger's hand  
  
In a...desperate land  
  
Lost in a Roman...wilderness of pain  
  
And all the children are insane, All the children are insane  
  
Waiting for the summer rain, yeah.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Ft. Bragg, 2146: My first op as team leader, three years ago. After surviving as a newbie to the theater in 2141 and for half of 2142 before I got sent onto the Counter Terrorism unit. Every six months the 22nd Special Forces and both the Territorial Special Forces Regiments provide a squadron apiece to cover any sort of terrorist activity worldwide.  
  
The spinning ceiling fan in the B Squadron interest room is reminiscent of the rotor blades of a skimmer as it flies overhead. A history of the 21st Special Forces, written in the souvenirs and pictures is all over the place. A few pieces of Gollum weaponry are mounted on the wall, the ones that guys didn't trade for booze or anything else when on R&R. Pictures of our history, including our recent adventures in South America, are numerous.  
  
"Merde." A familiar voice sounds. I turn to see Arnot walking into the room. He's about 5'11", and recently put a lot of muscle on his upper body. He hit the weights heavily when he joined us back in 2142, when we were on the Counter Terrorist Team. He's still keeping up the weight lifting program evidently.  
  
Like me, Arnot's wearing civvies. "Just get in?" I ask.  
  
"Yeah." Arnot replies, "Jack's on his way over. Everyone else is on their way over, we're still trying to find Shorty."  
  
"Don't tell me. We're combing every bar in Fort Bragg to find his Filipino ass." I reply.  
  
"We are. Time to get on the bus, we don't wanna be late." Arnot says.  
  
I grab my bergen (field pack) and walk off to where a Greyhound bus awaits to take us to the airport.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Be good for mommy sweetheart." Bobby Budnick said to his newborn son. He had gotten married to his college sweetheart, affectionately nicknamed Z.Z., after the war.  
  
"I'll see you soon too." Budnick said, kissing his wife.  
  
"Hey, are you gonna take all day!" Donkey Lips shouted from his pickup truck.  
  
"Time to visit my other wife." Budnick said, jokingly, "The Army awaits."  
  
Z.Z. handed him a bag, "All your favorite fattening foods. Though why you eat this stuff I can't figure out, I know you'd appreciate it."  
  
Budnick blushed and after a final embrace he went into the truck. His wife was a classic Greenpeacer, an environmentalist. She had come down with the Peace Corps after the Amazonia campaign to rebuild destroyed towns and villages in 2145.  
  
"Who'd have thought a bet would do this to me?" Budnick smiled, "A bet to join the Army gives me a wife, a baby, and everything I could ask for."  
  
Donkeylips impatiently beeped the horn again on the Dodge Durango he drove. "Budnick! Get your lazy butt away from the domestic scene before I flatten you!"  
  
"Uh oh, looks like you'd better go. I've got two Big Macs in the top of the bag." Z.Z. said.  
  
"If Donkeylips doesn't eat them all." Budnick replied. He laughed at his own joke as he stepped inside the Durango.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Darling you've got to let me know." Shorty said, as he danced around the bar, "Should I stay or should I go?"  
  
He was singing the song by the Clash, Should I Stay or Should I Go. A tall, blonde woman smoking a cigarette at the bar watched him impassively. He was wearing a brown collared shirt, untucked, jeans and a pair of Timberlands.  
  
"If you say that you are mine. I'll be here till the end of time." Shorty sang as he air guitarred and danced around the bar, "So you've got to let me know. Should I stay or should I go?"  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Hey, where's Shorty?" Dave asked Stoney as he walked into the bachelor enlisted quarters, where many of the single soldiers in the unit, territorial and active alike, lived.  
  
"Shit." Stoney said, "Hey bring my pack, will ya dude."  
  
Dave saw a breeze block and grinned as he picked it up and stuck it in Stoney's pack.  
  
"Anyone seen my thermals?" someone asked in the barracks.  
  
"We're going to fucking Egypt not Alaska."  
  
"Wake up you lazy bugger, c'mon."  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Should I stay or should I go now?" Shorty sang, slinging the woman's arm around his shoulder. She still wasn't interested, "If I go there will be trouble..."  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"If anyone touches you while I'm away, I'll knot there bollocks so tight they'll be pissing out there ears." Falstaff said.  
  
He was securing his bicycle to a rack within the confines of Fort Bragg. The 21st Special Forces Regiment's B Squadron was being mobilized for the Sinai operation. Already A and D Squadrons were based out of there, with G Squadron on counter-terrorist duty in North America.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Should I stay or should I go now..." Shorty said, dancing on top of a chair, he stopped short when he saw Stoney walk in and shake his head.  
  
"Aw mate," Shorty said. Stoney picked him up over his shoulder, as the half-Filipino, half-Australian said, "Mate? Easy. Whoa...."  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Room for a midget?" Stoney shouted amid the laughes of the B Squadron troops on the bus.  
  
"No!" Falstaff laughed, "No!"  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Every soldier hopes for a major war in his lifetime. This one was mine."  
  
The words of SAS Sergeant Andy McNab, twentieth century Britain's most decorated solider echoed through my mind. I'd already had my major war. This mission was mine and it had to be a damn big mission if three squadrons that would be on reserve duty were called up from the 21st Territorial Special Forces.  
  
The lot of us crowded on the bus were the last of B Squadron to depart. At the airport, we just sat around, waiting for our flight out to Egypt and our transport into the desert FOB (Forward Operating Base).  
  
I already knew our mission. Our task was to infiltrate the Sinai region to discover what had caused contact to be lost with many settlements in the area. Officially that was our task. It hadn't yet been confirmed but rumors were flying around squadron lines that we were being tasked with not only armed reconnaissance but strike missions as well against strange missiles that have been hitting cities and towns all around the Middle East. The strikes seem to originate from the Sinai.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
El Alamein Hangar, Egypt  
  
"It's not yet been confirmed but it seems our primary tasking will be against missiles, since various cities around the Med have been taking hits." Captain Kevin "Ug" Lee says. He is a fellow with longish blonde hair from upstate New York, near Buffalo, he took command of Mountain Troop back in '44 during the Atacama Campaign.  
  
"Warning order, you'll be taking command of a patrol." Ug says, "Mission: To find and destroy mobile missile sites operating in the North Western Sinai that have been launching missiles at targets in Crete, Israel, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia."  
  
Planning takes place as we gather supplies for the operation. We're short on 10mm ammunition, having been given only two sixty round magazines apiece when we checked in. The guys carrying the Wiraway squad automatic weapon only receive one two hundred round drum of 10mm ammunition.  
  
We approach the SQMS (Squadron Quartermaster Sergeant) section of the hangar. "As much link as we can carry for the Wiraways, and 40mm grenades for the 206s." Jack says.  
  
"Are you out of your minds?" Sergeant Cyril Carey says, "This is the first time the Regiment's been together in this great of numbers since '45. We don't have that much kit, we're short."  
  
"Who's is all this then?" Arnot demands.  
  
"A and D Squadrons." Carey says.  
  
"Hey, we're operational in three days." Jack growls.  
  
"Well so are they." Carey retorts.  
  
"What's the sodden point of dragging us out here if you haven't any kit?" Arnot demands angrily.  
  
"Jack, go see if you can't find any more supplies. And take Arnot with you." I say, "Cyril, you're gonna have to have a word with the other squadrons. See if you can't get us any more kit."  
  
"Hah." Cyril laughs, "If you can find anymore, you're lucky."  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"What do you want TACBEs (Tactical Rescue Beacons) for?" Mike, the Squadron Sergeant Major, asked Budnick as they moved through the Head Shed (Command Area) where radios and communication gear were stored.  
  
"To order Chinese takeout." Budnick remarked, chewing on a lit cigarette as he spoke, "I need eight."  
  
"Eight? You work in pairs don't you?" Mike replied.  
  
"Fine, four will do." Budnick replied.  
  
"Four TACBE's then, they're to call in air support, you understand, they're not for any other purpose." Mike replied.  
  
"What's this?" Budnick asked.  
  
Mike's hand clamped down on the foil wrapped rectangular object on his desk. "That is a shiny thing?"  
  
"Well I want one." Budnick said.  
  
"You don't even know what it does, do you?" Mike's replied.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"What's all this?" I ask Budnick as I lie on my improvised bed, between a stack of crates.  
  
"206 bombs." Budnick says, "I got them from a guy in A Squadron that owes me a favor or two."  
  
"Where are going?" I ask.  
  
"Under your bed, of course, sarge." Budnick says, as he goes into his own improvised bed.  
  
The lot of us are crammed in amongst supplies stacked in the hangar. Other than marked eating and bathroom facilities, we sleep wherever we can find a space to put our beds. Mine consists of my sleeping bag and a mattress I 'requisitioned' from D Squadron area. These are all atop a couple cargo pallets where Budnick goes to shove the 206s grenades in a case underneath.  
  
"Talk about blowing your ass off." Budnick jokes.  
  
"Ha ha." I reply, then noticing Budnick holding a shiny object in his hands, "What is that thing?"  
  
"That's a shiny thing. And I love it." Budnick says.  
  
Shiny Kit Syndrome is what we in the Special Forces refer to as requisitioning 'shiny' bits of kit that could prove useful. One case of this applied when I requisitioned a shiny thing back in 2142. When the patrol got lost in the jungle it turned out the shiny thing I got saved our asses, because it was a GPS receiver.  
  
"What is that shiny thing, by the way?" I ask.  
  
"Oh, it's a SATNAV, satellite navigation beacon. I'll test it tomorrow when I sign for the codes." Budnick said, "I've got our call sign. We're Kilo Two Zero."  
  
"Kilo Two Zero. Right, I like the easy to remember ones." I reply.  
  
I write a letter home to my family as I'm talking to him. "Uncle Shaggy, If you're reading this, I'm dead. Collect the insurance money and do what you will. Don't mope around. P.S. Don't forget, 500 credits is to go behind the bar at the next squadron pissup. P.P.S. I love you."  
  
"Brilliantly concise pal." Budnick jokes, "I hope what you write Kate is a little more sensitive."  
  
"Z.Z.'s rubbed off on you, eh?" I joke back.  
  
I start writing my letter to Kate as the night darkens, "My Dearest Kate, My dearest, dearest shiny thing..." Budnick remarks.  
  
"Hey! Who put this in my pack?" Stoney shouts.  
  
"A cinder block? Very thoughtful Stoney, just what we need." I reply.  
  
"Ha ha." Stoney laughs and lobs it.  
  
"Whoa! Jesus!" Dave shouts.  
  
Engineers. A tense lot they are. I compose my letter to Kate, knowing that if she reads it, I am very likely dead or wishing that I am somewhere in the Sinai. It contains everything. What I feel about her. Why I extended my tours in South America. The time I spent constantly training when I was on the Counterterrorism Team back 2142, I nearly messed up our friendship that way and hadn't really apologized.  
  
Somewhere out there, Kate is enjoying some time with Scott and I'm again off to war...  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
A meeting with the wedding planner was next on the agenda. Kate realized she should be feeling gushy new bride feelings, but all she could think of was how nice a guy Scott was. Even tempered, pleasant, treated her well. She began to wonder about Hiram, just why had he extended those tours in South America during the war?  
  
He drove a Mercedes Benz, a leased C class, but a Benz nonetheless. He was working for a pharmaceutical company, which meshed well with her job as a veterinarian. Why then did she feel trapped by the relationship? And why did she feel that this trap was of her own design.  
  
She turned over in her bed. At her father's insistence, she and Scott weren't sharing a bed. That felt good because she didn't want him catching onto her feelings about this wedding. She couldn't help but wonder about the sadness she saw in Hiram's eyes when he shipped out to South America for the first time, or the haunted look they held when he returned.  
  
She sighed as she tried to get some sleep, 'Now I know how Hiram feels.' Kate thought, 'I can't help but worry about him right now. God this feels like the war all over again!'  
  
Scott was dragging her off to visit some of his family living in Orlando tomorrow and she needed every bit of sleep she could get to at least act civil. She heard a knock at her door, "Kate, it's Dad, can I come in?"  
  
"Come in Daddy." Kate said.  
  
"Worried again?" Robert Barnes said.  
  
"You could tell?" Kate asked.  
  
"Hiram's your best friend, of course you worry about him. I can't say anything to help you through this, but you know you have your father to talk to if things are..." Robert said.  
  
Kate hugged her father fiercely, "I just hate this whole communications blackout thing. Not even a phone call allowed..."  
  
Robert Barnes hugged his daughter back letting her fall into a restless sleep before tucking her in and leaving the room, whispering. "Katherine, you've always made the right choice growing up. I've never had to be afraid for you. You'll do what's best for you."  
  
'God I hope Becker gets back here alive.' Barnes thought, 'Because if he doesn't he's gonna be one unlucky soul when I finally get to Heaven.'  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
TBC 


	6. Proof of Life

Proof of Life/Homefront  
  
Disclaimer – Same as before.  
  
Eternity – Thanks for reviewing.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Forward Operating Base  
  
Here we check zeroed the Wiraways and 206s. Weapons are just a tool, as long as they go bang when you squeeze the trigger and hit what you're aiming at, that'll do.  
  
Over the dune I could see Link, Stoney, Dave and Shorty firing their Wiraway squad automatic weapons in short burst of four or five rounds to make sure the sights were aligned properly. They were shooting at four Figure 11 targets, essentially a big picture of a charging man, and blasting holes through them in the indicated 'kill' areas within three or four rounds.  
  
I watch Arnot fire a 206 grenade at several empty shipping crates we set up as targets. When he misses he calmly adjusts the 206's azimuth sights for the range he's at. I fire a couple 10mm rounds at another Figure 11 from the assault rifle component of my 206, which is above the grenade launcher part.  
  
I'm carrying 590 rounds of 10mm ammunition in ten magazines when we go over into the Sinai as well as a dozen 206 bombs. Why only fifty-nine rounds per magazine? Easy most weapons stoppages are due just as much to bad magazines as they are to bad weapons. Technically speaking sixty rounds is a lot of weight for the spring to bear, at maximum capacity. I'd much rather the spring have just that little more extra push being one round light as opposed to being at full capacity and having a stoppage from a bad magazine. I can change magazines pretty quickly, and I've even got a couple rigged magazines that are taped end over end so all I have to do is flick my wrist and I've got another fifty-nine rounds ready to be loaded. I also have four grenades, two L4 fragmentation and two white phosphorous grenades as well as my Fairborn-Sykes commando knife, a favorite of British commando units during World War II.  
  
A major sore point with the unit is pistols. The twenty pistols we'd packed away as useful backup weapons simply disappeared into the hands of A and D Squadrons. Our mates are just as afflicted with shiny kit syndrome as we are, but the big difference is they'll be going in by vehicle, we'll be going in on foot after the Skimmer dropped us off.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Kate got into the rental car beside Scott as they drove down to Orlando to visit Scott's aunt and his older sister. As she did, she couldn't help but worry. It was that same kind of sixth sense she'd gotten when Hiram was in South America. It was as if she could tell he was about to get into a major drama. It turned out she was right during those days, whenever she'd had those feelings she would write them down and date them. Hiram's letters from around the date of those feelings always talked about patrols where major contacts were discovered.  
  
An example was one day at the clinic, back in 2143; she had that weird feeling again. And not more than ten days later a letter from Hiram arrived speaking about a jungle patrol where his four man patrol ran afoul of a two hundred and fifty man enemy base camp. Luckily the skimmer extracted them without a hitch, but as they returned to base the skimmer was found to have exactly two hundred and seventy eight large and small holes in its airframe.  
  
Scott was busily talking on his cell phone, something about a major client, Cogsworth, wanting to advertise some new drug that it had made. Kate rolled her eyes and sighed, Scott had yet another business meeting. It wasn't as if she didn't know what the various drug conglomerates spoke of, she was a veterinarian after all, but she wondered just when she and Scott would have some time just being a couple.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Forward Operating Base  
  
The kit we always divide equally amongst us, so if anything goes wrong, any two of us could pull the mission of with some success.  
  
"Nice to have known you wankers." One of the guys, Rolly Thiemann, a half Swiss-half Brit from A Squadron shouts over at us.  
  
"And you dickheads." I shout back, as I put my belt kit together. Belt kits are the padded belt and suspender set you see soldiers wearing that contains the essentials, water, ammunition, and maybe a ration pack or two. During jungle warfare school we were taught that your belt kit, golock (machete), and weapon had better not be more than an arm's length away. Whenever we were out of our A-frames (our pole beds built in the jungle), weapons and belt kit were always worn.  
  
We only take the essentials but even that adds up to around 210 pounds sometimes. In our case it did. Jack's adjusting the straps on Stoney's field pack and he pats him on the back when he's done.  
  
"How far do we gotta tab with this lot on?" Stoney asks.  
  
Cyril walks among us with plastic garbage bags, "Right gents, sort your kit and bag it up. Squadron in one bag, next of kin in the other. Remember to label which is which. Don't want the missus finding out about that blow up love doll you take on deployment, do you."  
  
"Why don't we stuff all this in the garbage bags and take them with us?" Stoney asks.  
  
"We're not a bunch of New Age travelers." Arnot replies.  
  
"It's always a question of style with you Arnot, isn't it?" Stoney replies.  
  
"You are what you wear." Arnot points out.  
  
"And what you carry." Budnick adds.  
  
"Hey Budnick, if you die can I have your guitar?" Donkeylips shouts from the group adjacent to us.  
  
"Sure, but don't try wearing my clothes. They won't fit your cavernous ass at all." Budnick retorts.  
  
"Ha ha ha." Donkeylips replies.  
  
"Everything goes in the packs." I reply, "Except for the NBC (Nuclear, Biological, Chemical suits), which in deference to Arnot we will carry in these designer sand bags. Right, anything we've forgotten?"  
  
"Oui, cover story." Arnot states, "There's a high probability of capture on this one."  
  
"Well the obvious one's pilot rescue. We're a search team looking for downed pilots and our own skimmer gets shot down whilst searching for them." Jack replies.  
  
"Sounds good." I reply.  
  
"Want a picture?" Sponge Harris, a grad school bound kid who joined us in 2144, asks.  
  
"Sure, why not?" Budnick replies.  
  
With our belt kits and weapons on we pose on a Land Rover. Sponge takes two copies, one for the Interest Room back at Ft. Bragg and the other to be signed by the lot of us on return. A night insertion is what I asked for and we're getting one tonight by the US Army Air Corps.  
  
Photo ops, I've had a few of them before missions back in South Am and on the Counterterrorist Team when it was B Squadron's rotation. There's a picture from the old days of South Am, back in 2141, of four guys from A Squadron. Only one signature adorns it, and that signifies that the other three boys in the picture were killed in action. It's another old tradition we have in the Special Forces, we take pictures of departing teams and when the team comes back the survivors autograph the picture. In our Squadron Interest Room there's one signed by the current top dog of the Special Forces, Lieutenant General Diennes, a three star who had served a long and distinguished career, including one in the 21st Territorial Special Forces.  
  
There's no other crew other than these seven guys under me that I'd rather go into hostile territory with. Every single one of them I've spent at least one tour in South Am with. Even our 'newbies' like Budnick, the third ex-paratrooper in our group, from the 82nd Airborne Division, have experience in the field. I know I can count on them in firefights, because I've been through at least one with each of them under me.  
  
Budnick's carrying the signal kit for the mission, Arnot's got the primary medical kit, and I've got the backup set. Since I'm team leader, patrol medic's no longer my primary responsibility, but, nonetheless I've still better keep that skill intact. The primary demolitionists are Link and Jack.  
  
As we ride in the Land Rovers towards the area where the skimmers are parked a procession of guys from D Squadron are marching up and down humming a funeral dirge.  
  
"Dum dum dum da dum dum da dum da dum da dum..." the chorus sounds.  
  
"Tossers." Fallstaff shouts.  
  
I hand Mike a trio of letters, to be delivered if I should fall in battle, "For Uncle Shaggy and the others, for Kate, and this third one's for you."  
  
"What's the one for me say?" Mike says, smoothing his gray hair.  
  
"Easy, cock this up and I'll come back and haunt you." I reply.  
  
"Seriously Hiram, does the one for Kate..." Mike says.  
  
I nod soberly, "It does."  
  
"Name and proof of life statements, gentlemen, we need to know you're alive in case we need to give a ransom away." Major Gates says as he and Cyril walk up to us with a video camera.  
  
"Hiram Becker, 29, if I win I'd like to travel and work with children." I say with a grin.  
  
"Linkovich Chumovsky, ex-para, chain smoker." Link says, puffing on one of his cigarettes, "Statement, My God, My country and my Harley Davidson, not necessarily in that order."  
  
"Bobby Budnick, ex-para like Link only better looking." Budnick says.  
  
"Bullshit." Link replies.  
  
"Statement, I will quit smoking this year, or next year. Ah hell." Budnick replies.  
  
"Alan Felders, Filipino-Australian, US Marine." Shorty says  
  
"Ogles tall women." Stoney remarks.  
  
"David Morgan, Encino, California. Statement, Hiram, if you die I'm taking those new boots of yours."  
  
"Stoney Brown, also from Encino. Statement, Disco will never die dude."  
  
"Ah shut up Stoney." Shorty remarks.  
  
"Arnot." Arnot replies, "Les Anciens (ex-legionnaire). Statement, Je ne regrette rien. I regret nothing."  
  
"Hey, you forgot about Falstaff." Budnick interjects.  
  
The camera pans to Falstaff and he says, "Jack Falstaff, from the Reader's Digest, 'Congratulations, you've just been selected out of people in your area to receive a prize in a literary competition.' That's shit that is."  
  
As we board the skimmer with our gear and it takes off I see a contingent from A and D Squadrons mooning us. Bastards, I grin, this was an old tradition from South America as well.  
  
I go forward to talk to the pilot, "What's our contingency plan."  
  
"Contact on landing, get back aboard and we'll reinsert you elsewhere. Contact after landing, call me on the TACBE and I'll recover you." The pilot says, "And I want plenty of covering fire."  
  
"Shouldn't be a problem." I reply.  
  
"If we get shot down whichever way you go, we'll go the other." The pilot replies, "Nothing personal it's just that to enemy forces we're simply aircrew, where you guys are Friday the 13th."  
  
It's really nothing personal. Special Forces guys don't exactly receive the best treatment if we fall into enemy hands. But that's a big if for us. We either fight to the end, or we escape and evade across hostile terrain. Throughout the history of Special Forces there have been tales of incredible escapes including one man during World War II, Jack Stillito, who walked across over a hundred miles of North African desert behind German lines to return to his own unit, the British SAS which we are partially descended from.  
  
The flight goes without a hitch and as we disembark we muster in a circle with our weapons aimed outward in case of a contact. When we see nothing I have Arnot as the lead scout, he's always been good at that particular duty when we were in South America. Jack and Dave are behind him with me behind Dave with Link, Budnick, Shorty, and Stoney behind me. Even in the dark I know what each of my team mates look like by their manner of walking, by particular pieces of headgear some of them wear (like Arnot with his peaked field cap with the Gerbigsjager (mountain warfare) device on the front), or by the weapons they carry.  
  
The big problem with finding a lay up point (LUP) in the dark is that what might seem like an uninhabited gully could easily be the foundations of a construction site on the outskirts of residential area. So we'd have to search carefully and not leave any sign that enemy trackers could follow.  
  
Presently Arnot finds us a wadi to hide in and the eight of us hole up. Six of us go to sleep with two of us on watch at any given time. Taking first stag (watch) are myself and Stoney.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Kate and Scott were sitting in the waiting area at a Caribbean themed eatery on International Drive called Bahama Breeze. Cogsworth wanted to know if they had time for a quick business lunch. Scott said definitely he had time for it, much to Kate's chagrin.  
  
'Katherine and Scott, the ideal couple.' Kate thought.  
  
An older, bearded fellow wearing slacks, an Oxford button down shirt with the top button unbuttoned and a dark blue blazer came in and said, "Scott Peterson?"  
  
"Yes sir, that's me." Scott said. Dressed in a similar fashion as Cogsworth despite the fact that it was over ninety degrees outside, Scott began talking animatedly about Cogsworth's latest pharmaceutical innovation.  
  
"Ah, and this must be the future Mrs. Peterson." Cogsworth began. He noticed the small silver ornamental edelweiss worn around Kate's neck.  
  
"You were in the veterinary unit for one of the mountain infantry divisions?" Cogsworth asked.  
  
"No, a good friend of mine went through the Gerbigsjager course in the Swiss Alps." Kate replied, "Back in 2138."  
  
"What unit was he with?" Cogsworth asked.  
  
"B Squadron, Mountain Troop, 21st Special Forces." Kate replied.  
  
"Ah, a Territorial Army soldier." Cogsworth said, "You know what men who attend the Gerbigsjager course must do to rate the edelweiss insignia worn on the front of their caps, right?"  
  
"To really be considered worthy of the right to wear the badge they climb the steepest slopes in the Alps and pick one from the peak." Kate replied.  
  
"Men have sometimes died trying to do so." Cogsworth replied, "When I was on vacation in Switzerland several years ago I heard about two soldiers from the 117th German Mountain Division falling to their deaths from a steep slope."  
  
As the waitress led them to their table, Kate took her seat beside Scott and the pair sat across from Cogsworth. She had a funny feeling that Cogsworth was up to no good, how she knew it she couldn't say exactly but the man seemed about as trustworthy as a snake oil salesman at a county fair. She knew she had some investigating to do. As soon as she got some free time she was going to research everything that could be found on one Osborn Cogsworth.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
TBC 


	7. We Have a Compromise

We Have a Compromise  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before. Mordor was the first demon in the Chest of Demons.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
(Sinai Desert)  
  
The LUP was in a wadi, or gully created by a long extinct desert river. We were hidden less than a couple miles from a very big problem we didn't see in the dark. Right bang in the middle of the MSR (Main Supply Route) was an emplacement of anti-aircraft guns and several vehicles.  
  
On stag is Dave and through a piece of string connected to the lapel of my desert smock he can tell me about what he can see by a tug to get my attention. He tugs on the string to let me know he's seen something. As I pull back to acknowledge he let's Jack know to take over on stag temporarily.  
  
"There's a truck full of troops broken down in the middle of the MSR." Dave alerts me, "They're about a mile and a half away from here. They're those red robed desert raiders that people in the Sinai have been reporting about."  
  
Dave's talking about some strange men, who wear crimson desert robes that have been raiding towns throughout the Sinai area and occasionally foraying into Egypt by crossing the Suez in rubber boats. They're being unnaturally bold this time. They're the guys supposedly responsible for firing missiles into surrounding states from hidden and mobile platforms in the Sinai.  
  
"Budnick, call in the Air Corps and tell 'em we've got a target." I say.  
  
"Hello AWACS (Air Warning and Control System) this is Kilo Two Zero, we are a ground call sign in need of assistance.. I say again, AWACS this is Kilo Two Zero, we are a ground call sign in need of assistance, over." Budnick begins, "I can't raise anybody."  
  
"Keep trying." I say.  
  
"You say you've seen the communication's landline they use to program the missiles?" Link says, "Then why don't we just sneak over there, cut it and then piss off."  
  
"I'd rather take it out by air strike." I reply, "But I'll keep that in mind. We've got a big problem with at least a battalion strength element with those anti-aircraft guns."  
  
As we waited in the LUP I heard the sound of bells, the sort one would find around the neck of a goat. We each grabbed our weapons and Stoney comes down from the other side of the wadi, splaying his hands out to indicate that the goatherd, a kid not more than twelve was less than five hundred feet away.  
  
One of the goats apparently got separated from the herd and was headed straight for the wadi. The goatherd was at the threshold of the wadi, all he had to do was look in and find eight members of a Special Forces reconnaissance team. And look down he did.  
  
"Here we go govener, lovely bit of chocolate 'ere." Jack says, in his best kindly old uncle voice, "C'mon...Shit!"  
  
Apparently the kid got away. "He's heading for the soldiers in the middle of the MSR." Dave shouts.  
  
Why didn't we shoot him? Well number one, that's a definite compromise. Number two, if their boys get a hold of us we're not gonna last five minutes. It had to be Jack, if it had been Arnot or Dave they'd have taken the kid down. His own kids might love him, but he'd never get a job playing Santa Claus.  
  
"Budnick." I say, "Get on the guard net and tell them in plain speech we have a compromise."  
  
"Hello any call sign, this is Kilo Two Zero. Radio check over." Budnick begins.  
  
"Right, we make for the RV with the skimmer. If we have a contact on the plains then we won't be sitting targets."  
  
Suddenly we hear the rumbling of an engine as we're packing our gear away into our bergens and are getting ready. "Shit." Dave says.  
  
"What's that?" I reply.  
  
"Armor." Budnick replies.  
  
"Stand too! Stand too!" I shout. Instinctively the guys form a circular perimeter, grabbing what cover they can. Budnick scrambles to the top of the wadi, removing the SADAR 66mm disposable rocket launcher from his bergen. The SADAR's a great anti-armor weapon; it's simply a lightweight aluminum tube weighing one pound that packs a hell of a punch against vehicles.  
  
"Now, now, remember the back blast." Arnot warns Budnick, his peaked field cap perched atop his head. Damndest thing is they look just like the M1943 caps of World War II, giving Arnot the nickname Rommel among our guys.  
  
"Jawohl Herr Rommel." Budnick remarks. He already knows that back blast, the fire coming out of the rear end of rocket propelled weapons, is just as deadly as enemy fire.  
  
"It's a bulldozer." Stoney announces, "I think he's lost, dude."  
  
"Lost, a fucking bulldozer, lost?" Budnick replies, "He's going past us."  
  
"The soldiers in the truck told our goatherd to piss off." Dave says.  
  
"Right, let's get to the RV (rendezvous) with the skimmer. Medi kit?" I ask.  
  
"Top of my pack." Arnot replies.  
  
"Signal's kit?" I ask.  
  
"Top of my pack." Budnick replies, "Codes are in my map case."  
  
We continue further along the plain and again we hear the sound of motors in the distance. "Stand too! Stand too!" I shout. This time I don't think it's a lost bulldozer.  
  
Of course you're afraid, anyone who says they're not they're either lying or need to see a shrink. You just wanna make the biggest hole possible to hide in. You'll take your spoon out and start digging if it'd help any. But then the training takes over, you psyche yourself up, you check that your magazines are on tight and your pouches are all closed up.  
  
Shorty's up on the binoculars, scanning the horizon as I see the guys readying their weapons, extracting the SADAR rockets we're all carrying, and cocking the 206s and Wiraways.  
  
"What's going on behind me Shorty? What's happening?" I say, "I need to know, talk to me!"  
  
"I can't see jack shit but I can here them they're to your half right." Shorty replies.  
  
"We're gonna go! We're gonna go!" Arnot shouts, the field cap atop his head making him look like Rommel.  
  
"Ready!" Link shouts.  
  
"Ready!" Stoney shouts.  
  
"Ready!" Dave shouts.  
  
"Ready!" Budnick says, "Jack, you ready?"  
  
As we're shouting I see two APCs (Armored Personnel Carriers) coming our way with a truck full of infantry. The first is a tracked APC, meaning it has tank treads and a smooth bore 25mm cannon. The other is a wheeled APC with a couple heavy machineguns. The one with the bigger gun is the bigger threat, obviously.  
  
Suddenly the tracked vehicle stops as a 66mm rocket tears the left tread loose. Jack just scored a mobility kill with the SADAR. Mobility kill means the vehicle in question is disabled, not destroyed, Jack just stopped the SOB in his tracks.  
  
"Shit!" I say as Budnick hits the first APC with another SADAR rocket. We disabled it, but didn't kill it.  
  
"Stand your ground!" I shout.  
  
"Stand your ground!" Shorty replies, passing my order along.  
  
We open fire as soon as we see the first of the red robed raiders emerge from the first APC. With about three rounds Link takes him down. Everyone's firing, but we're not shooting off whole magazines, the way our adversaries are shooting their Vz-57 assault rifles (a crude, older model assault rifle that's cheap to produce and therefore a terrorist favorite). The machine gunners are shooting four and five round bursts, at most firing ten round bursts. Those of us with 206s are shooting single shots to conserve ammo. Aimed and accurate semi-auto fire wins firefights, not shooting from the hip like you see in Rambo films.  
  
The machine gunner in the second APC goes down as Link takes him out with a burst of gun fire. Dave's opening up on the guys running out of the back of the truck and I see Budnick score another kill from an APC crewman who tries his hand at being a foot soldier.  
  
I've taken down another enemy soldier running from the truck that escaped Dave's fusillade into their ranks. The first APC is still firing its 25mm cannon occasionally, the shells exploding near us.  
  
"Stoppage!" I shout, indicating that my weapon is either out of ammo or jammed. In this case the magazine's empty. I simply grab another magazine, take out the old magazine, jam the new one in and tap the side of the weapon, chambering a round.  
  
I see Shorty get up on one knee, lift the SADAR to his shoulder and aim it at the truck. He fires it and the truck goes up in a fireball.  
  
"Arnot stand by!" I shout.  
  
"Oui!" Arnot replies.  
  
"You've got to move forward and take the fight to them. It's the last thing they're expecting. You're dead anyway, so anything you do is a bonus." As we run forward, the words of one SAS Sergeant from the 20th Century are running through my mind. Both me and Arnot hit the deck and start firing at the enemy soldiers who are starting to fall back in disarray, with the second APC backing up, shooting its machineguns at us. The infantry are using it as cover, firing their Vz-57s from their hips, shooting the fifty round 20mm magazines off with one squeeze of the trigger.  
  
"Coming through!" Shorty shouts, Dave running right behind him. Both men hit the ground a few meters in front and to the right of me. The 25mm shell explodes behind them, barely missing.  
  
"Coming through! Coming through!" Falstaff shouts as he and Budnick advance past us. We're firing all the while, dropping several enemy foot soldiers with accurate gunfire. We've got them running away.  
  
"Stoppage!" Dave shouts, as he tries to clear a jammed round from his weapon.  
  
We're all firing accurate but high volumes of fire. We're constantly advising each other of the status of our weapons and what we're about to do so we avoid shooting each other by mistake, as happened once in South Am back '42 when two trigger happy legionnaires accidentally killed a member of Boat Troop who was wearing a Gollum made belt kit.  
  
"Coming through! Coming through!" Link and Stoney shout.  
  
A shell explodes behind Stoney, "Coming through! Coming through!" Stoney shouts, leaping upward.  
  
"Stoppage!" Link shouts, clearing a jammed round. He gets the gun firing again as the enemy troops continue their retreat around the wrecked truck.  
  
Budnick fires a 206 bomb over the truck, followed by one from me. Somebody certainly wasn't happy because I hear a less gunfire and frantic shouts in foreign tongues.  
  
"Coming through!" I shout.  
  
"Coming through!" Arnot adds alongside me as we advance, I'm reloading as we go, I just went through another magazine. I barely avoid another shell burst behind me.  
  
"Gunner!" Jack shouts, calling for a Wiraway man.  
  
"Coming through!" Dave shouts as they advance towards a slight pile of rocks where Dave sets up his Wiraway.  
  
"Shit!" Jack yells as a shell explodes fairly close.  
  
"Coming through!" Budnick shouts as he follows them a few meters back. He jumps up as another 25mm shell explodes behind him.  
  
Dave and Falstaff are putting fire on the retreating enemy element, but we've still got that disabled APC with the 25mm gun to handle.  
  
"Coming through!!" Shorty yells and puts more fire on the retreating troops.  
  
"Coming through!" Stoney shouts, "Coming through!"  
  
Shorty ceases fire for a while when Stoney crosses his line of fire and resumes again when Stoney clears. There are crewmen still alive inside the APC as Stoney puts his Wiraway down, takes a grenade from his belt kit, pulls the pin, counts to four and throws it inside the open back of the APC. The explosion stops the cannon fire at last.  
  
We advance towards the wrecked vehicles, with me, Arnot and Budnick reaching them first. I see one of the 'dead' enemy soldiers sit up and raise his Vz-57. Budnick takes him out in two shots. To my left I see Shorty sweeping the perimeter and see another supposedly dead soldier try to take him out. Shorty obliterates his forehead with five rounds from a Wiraway at twenty five paces  
  
All around us are about fifty dead bodies. The charred arm of an unlucky passenger in the truck that Shorty destroyed brushes the back of my head and I spin around, taking aim. I see Arnot kick over another body to determine if it's another faker.  
  
"Fucking outrageous." Link groans, as he kicks over another corpse.  
  
"Now what?" Arnot asks me.  
  
"We'll pick up our field packs and head west; we've got an hour till last light. We'll wait till it gets dark, double back and then sort ourselves out." I reply.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Fifty men dead, another thirty seriously wounded. From eight men?" Cogsworth demanded over the phone. His lunch meeting with Petersen and his fiancée had ended hours ago. He got a call from the Sinai desert, the members of the Cult of Mordor the Malevolent, shortly after the contact with Hiram's patrol.  
  
"Redouble your efforts. They can't have gone far on foot." Cogsworth replied, despite this minor setback, the Cult of Mordor was holding its own. A million strong, the sect had remained secret for millennia since Mordor's imprisonment in the Chest of Demons. It was they who built his fortress. And it was they who later abandoned it and went into hiding until their descendants had sensed their time had come.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Orlando, Florida  
  
Scott was sleeping like a baby as Kate scanned the screen of the laptop for all the information she could find on Cogsworth. She'd called a friend working for the Orlando Sentinel as an investigative reporter. Other than the fact that he had an unsubstantiated scandal involving a Florida senator and a mob gambler several years ago, Cogsworth was clean. She asked Molly to pursue that lead as she kept scanning.  
  
She couldn't help but worry about Hiram. She was feeling that eerie feeling that something was wrong, that one she would always get back when Hiram was in South America. Whenever she had those feelings Hiram would usually have run into some major drama while on patrol.  
  
Scott rolled over in the bed of his sister's spare bedroom, reaching an arm out for Kate. When he didn't find her he woke up to find her sitting at the kitchen table, looking over something on the computer.  
  
"Still think Cogsworth's a crook hon?" Scott asked, gently putting an arm around Kate.  
  
"I'll be back in bed before you wake up." Kate said, standing up and kissing Scott tenderly. He moaned affectionately with each kiss.  
  
"Had another one of those feelings?" Scott asked.  
  
"Scott." Kate warned.  
  
"I'm just saying, you've been awfully worried about Hiram lately." Scott said.  
  
"Scott, he's my best friend, anyone who gets involved with me is going to have to accept that." Kate replied.  
  
"It's weird though, like you guys have some kind of telepathic bond." Scott replied, "That day two years ago when there was that skimmer that went down over the Atacama Desert, you were so sure Hiram was in that big firefight and his next letter home confirmed it."  
  
"Cogsworth isn't a criminal. I don't know why you think he is." Scott said.  
  
"I don't know how I know either, but something about that guy just creeps me out." Kate replied, "I guess you can label it right under those incidents involving Hiram."  
  
"I'll see you when you go back to bed honey." Scott said, kissing her again. Kate kissed him back, tenderly and with affection.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Forward Operating Base  
  
Colonel Archie Gates had gathered everyone from B Squadron he could find. A and D Squadrons were out in the Sinai, searching for the mobile sites and prepared to shoot them apart and run away in their armored land rovers and motorcycles.  
  
Like everyone else in the encampment Archie Gates wore no rank or markings on his fatigues. He carried his belt kit and an L-99. The rescue package was set to go in after Kilo Two Zero, and he was going in with it.  
  
Though he outranked the rescue team's leader he had no intention of taking over the operation. Ug was designated patrol leader for this op, but Gates was damned if he was gonna let eight of his guys rot in the desert while he stayed at the FOB.  
  
Archie Gates was a major, a fellow with salt and pepper hair, cropped short. A veteran officer who had served with the 22nd Special Forces before the South America campaign as a member of the Mobility Troop. He'd taken command of B Squadron, 21st Special Forces, Territorial Army just before the Squadron shipped out to South America.  
  
He was the very picture of American military machismo, with his crew cut, aviator sunglasses and the 9mm pistol in the shoulder rig in a leather holster. Archie Gates was a calm, analytical fellow with little tolerance for bureaucratic bullshit that tended to plague the regular army.  
  
"Harris, take the MILAN missile post." Gates said, referring to the big anti-tank missile launcher in the back of the land rover, "I'll drive."  
  
"You sure sir?" Ug asked. He and Sponge were supposed to be in the lead land rover in the two vehicle rescue package.  
  
"It's your mission, Captain. I'm just along for the ride. I'll be damned if I let Becker and those guys rot out there while waiting at the FOB." Gates replied.  
  
"Yes sir." Ug replied. Gates was not the typical West Pointer that he had worked with before. If he were the average arrogant ring knocker he'd have barked orders and commandeered the mission, but Gates seemed to trust him and thus Ug trusted Gates.  
  
"Pinsky, Stein, you two take the motorcycles. Scout ahead of the unit." Ug ordered, "Donkeylips, you take the third humvee with Mike and Cyril."  
  
"Well, what are you waiting for? Your patrol leader's given you boys orders." Gates said.  
  
Donkeylips got into the driver's seat of the second land rover with Cyril manning the two MG-70 machineguns in the front of the vehicle and Mike in the back, manning the 40mm belt fed grenade launcher. In addition to their land rover's weapons all three men carried either L-99 or M206 weapons.  
  
Gate's land rover in the front of the column had Ug behind the twin machineguns facing forward and Sponge at the MILAN post, minding the medical kit to treat the survivors of Becker's patrol. The middle vehicle was the cargo vehicle, driven by Al Wilkes and Todd Keck, both of them Staff Sergeants and veterans of South America.  
  
Ronny Pinsky had a 9mm Stingray Mk. II folding stock carbine, a handy little weapon with a thirty round magazine and about a dozen spare clips. Michael Stein had an electric gun. Both men could fire the weapons one handed from the motorcycles if necessary, but their main defense was the three land rovers. Useful for passing messages between vehicles to maintain radio silence as well as reconnaissance, the motorcycles of Mobility Troop and the men who rode them into battle were some of the best motorized reconnaissance units in the military.  
  
"Let's move out." Ug ordered as the column began to drive out into the Sinai, searching for the lost members of patrol Kilo Two Zero. Stein and Pinsky led the way, their weapons accessible on the handlebars of their model Indian motorcycles.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
The next day Kate ran into Daphne as she was shopping at the grocery store. She asked if Daphne knew anything about Cogsworth.  
  
"No, I don't really." Daphne said, pushing the grocery cart.  
  
"Up?" said Jana, Daphne and Fred's year old daughter.  
  
Kate picked up the baby who gurgled happily, "I really don't have a good feeling about that guy. I mean there's something really wrong with him."  
  
"I'll see what I can turn up, but I can't promise you I'll really find anything Kate." Daphne replied, adding, "Look, I know there's nothing I can say to really ease your worries..."  
  
"About what?" Kate asked.  
  
"Hiram. I know that you're worried about him, just like you were worried when he got deployed into South America." Daphne replied.  
  
Kate transferred the baby into Daphne's arms as they walked out of the checkout line. She got into the rental, parked near Daphne's SUV as Daphne's cell phone rang.  
  
"Oh my God!" Daphne exclaimed.  
  
"What's going on?" Kate asked, "Daphne?"  
  
"Vincent Van Ghoul." Daphne said.  
  
Kate knew a little bit about the story of the mysterious wizard that infrequently visited Shaggy's house, but not very much. She also was a little more tolerant of Hiram's two buddies, Bogel and Weerd than most people were.  
  
"What about him?" Kate asked.  
  
"He's gone. And you know too much already." Daphne said, her voice having an uncharacteristically hard edge. She slammed the door of her SUV and drove north, towards Sapphire Bay.  
  
Kate took out her cell phone, she called Shaggy's house and Bogel picked up the phone.  
  
"Bogel, Weerd, this is really important." Kate said, "Can you come down here?"  
  
"You rang us, fair lady." Weerd said, appearing behind her.  
  
Kate jumped back about six feet, her eyes wide open, "How did you guys...?"  
  
"It's a power of we ghosts." Weerd replied, as if addressing an ignorant child, "When a mortal summons us by name we appear. IF you believe in ghosts that is. And since you've seen us around Hiram you qualify."  
  
"Hoo hoo hoo, Bogel and Weerd, at your service." Bogel said.  
  
"I need you to help me find out what happened to Vincent Van Ghoul, and whether Cogsworth has anything to do with it." Kate replied.  
  
Both ghosts were clad in old style Army uniforms. Weerd puffed out his chest and Bogel his gut as they both saluted, "Yes ma'am, we'll find him ma'am!"  
  
The two ghosts disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving Kate with the very distinct feeling something was very wrong. If the only person who possibly knew where the Chest of Demons was hidden was gone, or worst, in the hands of the enemy, then things were definitely looking grim.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
TBC (What's become of Vincent Van Ghoul? Wait and see...)  
  
. 


	8. Running and Gunning

Running and Gunning  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before. Warning, crude humor in text.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
For the next hour we fought a running battle with the enemy soldiers as they pursued us across the Sinai.  
  
"Go! Go!" I shout as I urge Budnick and Jack to pull back, with Stoney and Link providing support. Dave and Shorty are already further to the rear and firing. Me and Arnot are last to pull back as a 23mm flak gun is opening up on us. Two trucks and two APCs are also on our tails.  
  
I pull the SADAR off my belt kit, pull the tube so it's longer and thus armed and flick up the tiny aperture sight. I aim it at one of the trucks and fire. The 66mm rocket blows the thing up in a flash and a secondary explosion. I must've hit the fuel tank or some extra ammunition.  
  
I see Link aiming his own SADAR and firing the rocket. He manages to explode the 66 between the two APCs, killing or wounding three enemy soldiers but doing little else.  
  
"Fucking outrageous." Link groans.  
  
Suddenly I see Arnot hit the deck. "Man down! Man down!" I shout.  
  
"Man down!"  
  
"Man down!" the shouts relay the message as I go back for Arnot.  
  
"Are you alright?" I ask.  
  
"Oui." Arnot replies as he gets rid of his field pack. He runs and follows me then turns around to retrieve something in his pack, "I forgot my flask! Present of the wife!"  
  
"Where's the medi-kit!?" I shout at him. He doesn't answer as we leg it across the plains.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
The field packs were binned, we couldn't move quickly enough with them. The belt kits contained what we couldn't do without, water and ammo. That night we covered eighty kilometers, the length of two marathons, with a hundred more to go to reach friendly territory.  
  
"On me! On me! To your right! To your right!" I hear Jack Falstaff yelling.  
  
"One!" Arnot shouts.  
  
"Two!" I shout.  
  
"Three!" Link shouts.  
  
"Four!" Stoney shouts.  
  
"Five!" Budnick shouts.  
  
"Six!" Shorty shouts.  
  
"Did anyone see Dave go down?" I ask.  
  
At a chorus of no I say, "Alright, three minutes and we look for him."  
  
Just about then Dave staggers in, his face beet red and gleaming sweat, "Christ, I'm dehydrated. I forgot about removing my thermals."  
  
I pull a packet of rehydrate powder and mix it with the water in my canteen. Dave drinks it greedily.  
  
"Is it my imagination or is it getting cold?" Stoney asks, pulling his beanie cap lower on his head.  
  
"Signal's kit?" I ask Budnick.  
  
"Radio's fucked." Budnick said, "It took a 20mm through it back on the MSR."  
  
"Get rid of that codebook then." I reply. Budnick removes it from his belt kit and lights it on fire.  
  
"Medi kit?" I ask.  
  
"I left it back at our last contact." Arnot said, "But I saved my flask."  
  
"Oh great!" Falstaff groans, "If one of us goes down we'll be glad to take a quick nip."  
  
"Are you alright?" I ask Jack.  
  
"My leg's buggered, but other than that I'll be fine." Jack replies, he's always had a bad left leg since a Squadron rugby game got out of hand back when we were on the Counter Terrorist Team back in early 2144.  
  
"Injuries?" I ask.  
  
I don't hear any replies so I say, "We'd best get moving. Arnot, take lead scout, Jack stay behind Arnot, Dave, stay behind Jack."  
  
We fell into our line with the three men specified in front, followed by me, then Link, then Budnick, Shorty, and Stoney bringing up the rear. "Spring day in the Southern US at the coldest," was Mike's response to my query on weather at night.  
  
Spring day at home my ass, it was the coldest night the Sinai had experienced in a decade. It was damn near 14 degrees Fahrenheit. I envied Dave as I trudged forward, wearing only my paratrooper's smock over my desert fatigue blouse and t-shirt and my trousers. All the other guys, like me, had removed our thermals before daylight at the LUP. Only Dave had forgotten to remove them. The wind blew fiercely, blowing clouds of sand everywhere.  
  
I hear an aircraft flying overhead, it's a P-58 fighter, "We're gonna try the TACBE again."  
  
"We're gonna try the TACBE." Link passes behind him.  
  
I extract the TACBE, and start the call, "Hello any call sign, this is Kilo Two Zero. We are a ground call sign and need assistance. Over."  
  
I hear the voice of the pilot, tinny, over the speaker, "Say again Kilo Two Zero. You're weak."  
  
"Turn back west! Turn back west! Over!" I shout into the speaker.  
  
I hear nothing more over the TACBE and turn around saying, "Where's Jack, and Arnot and Dave?"  
  
I should've checked to see if Dave passed the message on. He was knackered good style, barely attentive to anything. I should've checked.  
  
We spend about two hours looking for them, and when we don't find any sign we reluctantly continue our westward course through the Sinai.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Kate felt that feeling of acid dread welling up in her veins again. Hiram was in trouble, she could tell. So far her investigations had turned nothing major up. Now that she had Bogel and Weerd on her side, she had additional help. She had at least one of them shadow Cogsworth every day.  
  
Weerd appeared in the room saying, "Kate, this guy's serious bad news."  
  
"What do you mean?" Kate asked.  
  
"Well we don't know if he's had a hand in Van Ghoul's abduction, but we know he's not clean as a whistle." Weerd began, "He keeps talking to this cult dedicated to one of the 13 Demons of the Chest, Mordor the Malevolent."  
  
"Didn't you guys work for him?" Kate asked.  
  
"We did. But if he gets out of the chest he'll be standing in a line to get us for being the 'inept lackeys'. Well at least with the gang and later Hiram we're more than that. Fellow ghosts be damned." Bogel replied.  
  
"Anyway he keeps talking to his cult members about Special Forces units that keep disrupting their operations. At least two mobile patrols in land rovers are going through the Sinai making life a mess for them. Then there's an eight man reconnaissance unit that's giving them some grief. They've so far left upwards of a hundred dead cult members dead on the desert floor." Weerd replied.  
  
"Hiram, he's in action I knew it." Kate replied, "We're gonna need more concrete evidence if we hope to get Cogsworth. We need some definite proof he's up to no good."  
  
"Definite proof of what honey?" Scott said as he walked into the room.  
  
"Just thinking out loud, Scott." Kate said, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him lightly and repeatedly.  
  
Scott ran his right hand down the curve of Kate's body, which he could feel through her silk night shirt. Bogel and Weerd had made themselves scarce because they figured Scott would freak out when he saw his fiancée talking to two ghosts.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Springtime at Fort Bragg my ass, the weather's the worst it's ever been in half a century in the Sinai. What's worst is that Stoney's down with hypothermia. The only bit of cover we can find sticks out like a neon sign.  
  
"Shorty, is it my imagination or is there snow on the ground?" Stoney asks through chattering teeth.  
  
"You're not dreaming." Budnick said, "It's snow alright."  
  
"You know Stoney," Shorty says, "You're body's not as cold as you think you are."  
  
"Really?" Stoney asks.  
  
"You're colder, much colder." Shorty replies.  
  
"To hell with this. I'm making a brew." I reply, as I pull a heating tab from my belt kit and pour some water from my canteen into a cup.  
  
"So not only are you breaking SOPs by brewing a hot drink. Through the smoke you're putting up a huge sign that says here we are. What is it, coffee, tea or hot chocolate?" Link asks, knowing I only carry those three types of hot brews on me.  
  
"Hot chocolate." I reply as I start heating it up.  
  
Only a few hours remain until last light and then we can head on our merry way. But time and the weather are against us. If Stoney gets any worse he could die. Also any one of us could keel over from the cold desert nights, or from starvation, almost all the food we had with us was binned with the field packs.  
  
"You're worried about Jack, Arnot, and Dave?" Link says.  
  
"Yeah." I reply.  
  
"Well don't, they're big and ugly enough to take care of themselves." Link replies.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Twenty year old Christopher Osborne is still missing after a seventeen day search." The newscaster announced as Kate put another pin into a map of Central Florida. For the past few months there had been several unexplained and unsolved disappearances around Central Florida.  
  
At first Kate thought they were unconnected but Weerd had dug up a similar case during the 1990s where a cult in Mexico had been responsible for the disappearance and death of a Spring Breaker. She immediately began researching the most recent disappearances and plotting the locations where they were last seen on a map.  
  
"Whoa, honey, this research project of yours is taking over the room." Scott remarked as he walked in, to find his fiancée awake and typing something into the computer.  
  
"Sorry, Scott," Kate replied, "I guess I kinda lost track of time."  
  
"I'll say, you've been at this for hours." Scott replied, "Well breakfast is ready if you want some."  
  
"I'll be down in a minute." Kate replied, kissing him.  
  
"Pheww, that was close." Bogle said, reappearing as soon as Scott left the room.  
  
"Yeah, too close for comfort." Weerd replied, "You sure you're all right? I didn't hear anything about Hiram at all. Good news is Cogsworth's stupid little cult lost over a hundred men dead and about two hundred severely wounded in the Sinai trying to find them."  
  
"I know, he's a Special Forces guy..." Kate began, "But I can't help but worry sometimes. South America was the same way."  
  
"Keep looking, maybe something will turn up." Weerd replied.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Still seventy kilometers from the border and we had to do something drastic and fast, because if the cult doesn't kill us the weather will. I take a penlight from my belt kit and wave it about, seeming to be a man with a wounded comrade. Doubled over at my side is Stoney, pretending to be wounded. Budnick, Link, and Shorty are hiding in the culvert. A vehicle stops in front of us and suddenly the driver and his two passengers find themselves face to face with three Wiraways and two 206s aimed at them. They leave the vehicle and I see two of the cult guys and some civilian.  
  
The taxi driver, the civilian, starts yammering away in the mother tongue which none of us understand. One of the cult guys says in a cloying voice, "Kill him, not us, for Mordor will give you amnesty when he takes over."  
  
"Shut up!" Budnick says, kicking him back off his knees. Both cult prisoners are begging us not to kill them as they realize we're part of the team that kicked the living daylights out of their unit two days earlier.  
  
"They've been looking at the damned things all day." Stoney remarks as we keep our three prisoners under control.  
  
"What's his fucking problem?" I ask one of the cult guys, as the civilian's yammering like a crazy bastard. I see Link going through their packs for cigarettes, extracting about three packs of Camels.  
  
"You are stealing his taxi, it's his living." One of the cult guys says.  
  
"Get down in the ditch!" Link says as he and Budnick help Shorty control the other prisoners.  
  
We pile into the taxi and I say, "What did you do with them?"  
  
"They'll live. Pissed off, but they'll live." Link begins.  
  
As they were dragged off the two cult guys begged us to kill them because they would suffer the indignity of being sacrificed. Honestly it's not my problem.  
  
"Any of you guys know how to put this thing in forward?" I ask, having never driven a column shift.  
  
"Up." Says Link.  
  
"No down." Stoney replies, realizing Link had just told me the way to put the taxi in reverse.  
  
Thus, in the comfort of a yellow taxicab we drive across the Sinai desert roads. "Budnick, keep an eye out for junctions, point me west." I ask.  
  
A Land Rover Defender full of cult members presumably passes us by, "See, why didn't you lift something like that?" Stoney asks.  
  
"Stoney, shut up will you. You were dying of hypothermia an hour ago." I reply.  
  
"Bullshit man, bullshit." Stoney replies.  
  
Budnick turns on the radio and we catch a local Arab radio station. Instantly Link starts singing along with lyrics of his own, "My husband has breath like a goat..."  
  
The cab fills with our laughter as we drive down the Sinai Highway with Link adding more lyrics, "His penis is small and covered with blackheads..."  
  
Shorty looks like he's about to explode as Link continues, "Now a days I sleep with the goats...They have much bigger penises and their twice as intelligent..."  
  
We're making good time in relative comfort on our way out of the Sinai. Let's just hope Lady Luck's smile doesn't change to a frown.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
TBC 


	9. Conflict at the Border

Conflict at the Border  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before.  
  
Eternity – Thanks for the reviews. Don't worry, I'll get back into the Vincent Van Ghoul abduction in a bit.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
As we drive along in the cab, we're making good time. After all we've had nothing but clear roads. Thanks to Budnick's map reading we're about ten kilometers from the Suez. All we have to do is cross it and we're home free.  
  
"Anybody got that sign?" I ask as I read a road sign in Arabic.  
  
"Disco will never die." Stoney remarks.  
  
The lot of us in the cab laugh. Link's smoking a cigarette as we drive along right into a VCP (Vehicle Check Point). It's manned by a bunch of those cult guys, who are checking the various civilian vehicles to see if any of them contain fugitives. A sentry is approaching our vehicle. They're gonna figure out who we are in about sixty seconds.  
  
"Do we stay or do we go?" Budnick asks.  
  
"We're going for that ridge on the west." I reply.  
  
"As soon as he pings us," Budnick begins. Silently I nod as Budnick aims his 206 toward the window. I hear doors unlocking behind me.  
  
The sentry shines his flashlight into the car only to have a 10mm bullet pierce the glass and his forehead. "Go! Go! Go!" Budnick shouts.  
  
Aggressively we burst from the cab, weapons at the ready and firing on any hostiles we sight. There are two trucks full of them ahead of us. I see Link, Budnick, and Shorty take down a couple more enemy soldiers.  
  
Budnick is shooting out the lights and into the cab of one truck. "Coming through!" I shout.  
  
A truck with a bunch of enemy soldiers in it is in our way. Stoney lets them have it with his Wiraway and I shoot a full magazine on full auto into the back of the truck for good measure.  
  
Link's firing blows up a gas vane somewhere, killing three more cult members. "On me! On me! One!" I shout as Link passes by.  
  
"Two!" I shout as Budnick goes by.  
  
"Three!" I shout as Shorty runs by.  
  
"Four!" Finally, Stoney runs by.  
  
Much later we've reached the ridge and evaded our pursuit. Under cover of darkness the five of us make our way to the ferry landing in the Suez. If need be we'll swim it, but it's not something I'm interested in doing.  
  
"That the border?" Stoney asks.  
  
"That's it." I reply. I don't like what I see through my night vision binoculars. What I'm saying is reflecting what I see, "Sentries. Heavy machineguns. Trucks. They've got a whole army there."  
  
Suddenly we're illuminated by searchlights. "Shit!" I shout. The heavy machinegun opens up on us just as swiftly.  
  
Stoney and I are firing towards a group of enemy approaching us, and I can see Budnick off in the distance with Link engaging the machinegun nest. Link is using his Wiraway to lay a base of fire down while Budnick shoots of a 206 bomb into the sandbag bunker, blowing the occupants to fragments.  
  
With sustained Wiraway fire, Stoney chews up a squad's worth of cult members charging from around the back of a truck. "Go! Go! Go!" I shout.  
  
Shorty is isolated away from us, and he's making his way towards the border, firing short bursts from his Wiraway all the while, fighting off various groups of enemy soldiers. He just got separated from Link and Budnick. None of us can help him, and we watch as Short leads the enemy force away from us. At least a platoon is chasing him around.  
  
I aim my 206 at a truck and fire off a 40mm grenade that disables the vehicle. I see two soldiers running away from it and I fire another grenade their way. Stoney's shooting steadily, killing three more enemy soldiers with his Wiraway.  
  
Still five kilometers from the border, in all the confusion we've lost Shorty, Budnick, and Link. It's taken us the better part of the night to get through enemy positions. We're low on ammo and soon our only weapon will be darkness and that's fading fast.  
  
I've crawled under a wire fence, across the front of a truck and motioned for Stoney to cross. He does and one of his pouches on his belt kit rubs against the wire, making a distinct metallic click. An enemy soldier pops up from behind the truck and I shoot him dead with three rounds. I hear shouts coming from the back of the truck and then I lob a phosphorous grenade into the bed.  
  
Phosphorous burns white hot and anyone hit by a phosphorous grenade is liable to be suffering third degree burns if not instant death. I hear several more shouts and enemy soldiers are advancing our way.  
  
Both me and Stoney drop down to engage them, behind the burnt out truck. Stoney's firing his Wiraway in short bursts and I'm firing single shots, killing two enemy soldiers. I change magazines in time to see a large group bearing down on us. I say to hell with conserving ammo and switch to full auto fire and fire short controlled bursts downrange, killing or wounding enemy soldiers, until my last clip runs dry. Three seconds later Stoney goes dry. We abandon our weapons and run for the border. We're not entirely defenseless. If we jump an enemy soldier we can steal his weapon, but I'd rather evade fighting for now.  
  
Two grenades explode behind us as we run and I go and duck behind a tangle of brush. I don't see Stoney behind me. "Stoney!" I shout as loudly as I dare.  
  
I hear shouts and gunfire. And running footsteps. And a scream. "Stoney?"  
  
I fear the worst, a man dead. I think of the damage a 20mm round can do to a human body, and imagine that Stoney's been hit. To hell with this. I've gotta cut my losses, and I run through the night. As I do, I imagine the losses of the patrol. Arnot, Jack, and Dave, are missing and possibly dead; Stoney, confirmed dead; Link, Budnick, and Shorty also missing. For all I know, I, Sergeant Hiram George Becker am the only survivor.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Oh God..." Kate moaned, Bogel just came in with some grim news. So far, a member of a Special Forces patrol had been killed. Thanks to both ghosts infiltrating Cogsworth's office, she was getting minute by minute information.  
  
"Who was he?" Kate asked, "Please...?"  
  
Weerd saw tears in her eyes and said, "It wasn't Hiram...I know it wasn't. He promised you he'd come back. And we know Hiram doesn't break promises."  
  
"Kate?" Scott said.  
  
"Shit." Weerd said as he vanished.  
  
"Are you alright?" Scott said.  
  
"I'm fine Scott, I'm just worried..." Kate replied.  
  
"About Hiram?" Scott said, "Look Kate, I'm sorry, I wish I could go make sure he's alive right now. But don't you realize Special Forces is a dangerous field."  
  
"I know." Kate replied, "But remember South America..."  
  
"Kate, you know I love you, but you can't worry so much about that. There's nothing you can do." Scott replied, "You know sometimes I wonder if you're really in love with me? I mean you worried so much about Hiram every time he deployed, but if I went overseas it didn't cause worry."  
  
"Scott." Kate said, offended, "That's because I knew you weren't patrolling through hostile territory with only three other guys and a radio."  
  
"I know." Scott said, "But travel's just as dangerous. Sometimes I thought you were in love with him..."  
  
"Scott!" Kate said, offended, "Are you implying that I had an affair with Hiram..."  
  
"Sometimes it sounds as if you did." Scott replied, the look on his face showed he wanted to apologize and regretted his words.  
  
"Scott, right now I don't want an apology. Please, just leave me alone, will you." Kate said, tears appearing in her eyes.  
  
"Alright honey." Scott said, "If you need me, I'll be in the next room."  
  
After he left, Kate buried her face in her hands and cried.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"No decent maps. Bad intelligence. A bloody goat herd. I hate goats..." the lone figure walking across the desert road said to himself.  
  
"Can't even get the weather right." The man continued as he lumbered across the desert, in broad daylight, his 206 carried tucked under his right arm. He was filthy, his hair covered crusted in dirt and dried blood from a small cut below his Gerbigsjager field cap. He appeared to be a lone survivor of a patrol that had been dispersed by bad weather and firefights.  
  
Arnot was definitely in shit state as he walked across the border area and ran into a couple of Egyptian Territorials (Army reservists from Egypt), who promptly took him off to safety.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Still two kilos from the border, by now I'm sure Stoney's dead. I can't speak for Shorty, Budnick, and Link, but I heard Stoney screaming off in the distance last night. I hear what sounds like vehicles coming, very close.  
  
Shit! They've seen me. I duck into a culvert in the road. I'm unarmed; save for the knife at my belt, there's a vehicle convoy coming this way. As the vehicles pass over, I recognize them as Land Rovers and see a couple motorcycles. It looks like a Regiment mobility column.  
  
"Contact!" I hear and bullets whiz past my head. It sounded like Pinsky, part of the rescue force.  
  
"It's Becker! You fucking assholes..." I shout.  
  
"Becker, is that you?" I hear a shout, it sounds like Gates.  
  
"Yeah, it's me sir." I reply.  
  
"Where's everyone else?" Gates asks me.  
  
"I don't know sir." I say soberly. Am I it? Am I the only guy that survived? Are seven of my fellow troopers rotting in the desert?  
  
"We'll rendezvous with the refueling convoy." Ug says, "We'll drop of Becker and search for the others."  
  
"Sir, request permission to remain with the convoy?" I reply.  
  
"Negative sergeant," Gates says, "You're in a bad state, you just survived a long journey across hostile territory. You look like a bag of shit in terms of physical condition. It's amazing you didn't pass out."  
  
As much as I hate to admit it, Gates is right. I've walked or run the equivalent of three and a half marathons, carrying 210 pounds of gear before we jettisoned our packs, carrying only our twenty-seven pound belt kits. I engaged in several gunfights, had little proper sleep, and hijacked a taxi, all of this without any proper rest. As soon as I take a seat in the back of the Land Rover I collapse into the back into a damn near stupor.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Cairo, Egypt; four days later: "Hiram!" Kate says, I see tears in her eyes as I throw my arms around her.  
  
She's come to the hospital to visit me on a military flight. She had to use the fact that she was a general's daughter to get a seat on the plane to Egypt. She managed to find out what hospital Hiram and four other survivors of patrol Kilo Two Zero were billeted in. Thankfully the fact that she was a general's kid got her in.  
  
She's a welcomed if unexpected sight, and I gently brush her tears away with my own hands. She can tell by the look on my face that I've lost men under my command. It was the same look I had after '43 in South America.  
  
"How many?" Kate asks.  
  
"Three." I reply. Kate throws her arms around me again and I gratefully accept her warm embrace.  
  
"Ms. Barnes." The Egyptian medical officer says, "Visiting hours are over."  
  
Kate smiles at me, "I'll see you tomorrow before I go back home."  
  
"I'd like that." I smile despite myself.  
  
I look at the four other men in hospital beds near mine. Link, Dave, Arnot, and Stoney are all suffering ill effects from several days on the run. I've lost twenty six pounds in the days of running gunfights. Arnot lost thirty-six from seven days and six nights of walking across a hundred and eighty miles of desert. Stoney had taken a 20mm round to the ankle on the night we got separated.  
  
Our three missing men are all dead. Jack got separated from Dave and Arnot less than a day after they separated from us. As that day wore on, Dave and Arnot encountered a supposedly friendly villager who was going to summon a truck to take them to the Suez. Dave accompanied him, armed with only his Wiraway. It turned out the villager summoned a group of cult members and after a brief gunfight Dave was captured.  
  
Thankfully another Mobility Troop patrol from A Squadron ambushed Dave's captors and rescued him. Arnot continued on by himself after the third day after being separated from us.  
  
On the night the five of us in the cab were ambushed at the border we heard of what happened to Shorty. After he had separated from the unit, he headed for the border, leading a large number of enemy soldiers away from us. He held them off for over half an hour until his ammunition ran out. When asked to identify the remains, I saw several bullet wounds. All of them in front, meaning Shorty faced death like a US Marine, staring it in the eyes and spitting into its face.  
  
After our gunfight at the border, Budnick and Link tried to cross the Suez Canal by swimming. Budnick found a Styrofoam box and stuffed pieces of it into the empty pouches on their belt kits. By tying their weapons to these crude floats they were able to swim across. But the worst was to come. By the time they reached the opposite bank, Budnick was shivering uncontrollably. Hypothermia. Link heated a cup of water with a small, portable stove. Budnick was in a shit state, he slapped the cup away. Link wrapped his smock and shirt around Budnick and went to search for help. But by the time he reached the concrete shed where he left Budnick, it was too late. Bobby Budnick was already dead.  
  
"That's all of us?" Dave asks me.  
  
"That's all of us." I reply grimly.  
  
Arnot blinks and hoarsely starts to sing, "J'avais un camerade..."  
  
We all follow this well known tradition from South America. We're singing for our three departed members of B Squadron. Jack Falstaff, this was supposed to have been his last op before retirement. It was his last anyway. Shorty, the Filipino-Australian with the big heart, never to try to hit on tall women ever again. Bobby Budnick, who died leaving behind a wife and an infant son.  
  
I know I only want one thing. Revenge. I want to kick the living shit out of the guys that killed three of my men. As soon as I get out of the hospital that's the first thing I'm gonna do. Four more days...  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
TBC 


End file.
